The Ballad of the Bayou
by writer writing
Summary: It's 1832 and Kid Cole and Sister Ruth are ministering in New Orleans. There, they meet and befriend a Creole girl named Grace, who finds herself in serious danger. AU. Fourth in a series.
1. Chapter 1

Sister Ruth was seated at one of the cafe's tables with Robert E and Grace.

"It's good of you to do this for us," Robert E said politely.

"We do appreciate it," Grace agreed quickly. She hoped she sounded genuine enough, but she was sure her feelings must have showed. She'd had her heart set on getting married in a church. "We'd hoped the reverend would do it, but if we ain't welcome in his church, we'd just as soon you do it."

"I'm very sorry I don't have a church for ya'll," Ruth said. "But God ain't only inside of a church. He's anywhere we are."

Robert E and Grace both nodded their agreement though their disappointment was still palatable.

"I promise the ceremony will be as traditional as it comes in every other way from the vows to the march down the aisle," she assured them.

They attempted to smile.

"What's your full names?" Sister Ruth asked.

"I've only ever been Robert E."

"And I'm just Grace." She would never claim her father's surname. She would soon be Mrs. Robert E and that's all she cared about.

Grace glanced over at Robert E. Goodness how she loved that man, but she wondered in that moment if he would still want to marry her if he knew how she'd grown up in New Orleans and just who her parents were.

October 1832

Kid Cole was crouched down oiling the wagon wheels with linseed oil.

Ruth watched alligators circling the waters, the tops of their heads barely breaking the surface of the swampy waters. It was probably silly, but she had the distinct feeling they were sizing her and Kid up as a possible meal option. The sooner they rode into New Orleans, the happier she would be.

Ruth had been wearing her cape but now that the sun was fully up, it warmed considerably to a humid 70s. She put her cape in the back.

"You done?" she asked impatiently. She wished he'd chosen another time to oil the wheels, preferably in a climate without alligators.

He had the ghost of a smile as he returned the bottle to where it belonged. "I'm done."

"It's times like these, I wish I was back in Virginia," she commented as he helped her up onto the wagon seat.

"It's times like these, I bet you're glad I carry a gun," he said settling beside her, the smile fully there now.

"I ain't arguing." She tried to focus on the beautiful trees with the droopy branches, but the thought of the wildlife kept her mildly uneasy.

He shook his head and laughed. "I've watch you facedown grown men whose own mothers are probably scared of them without an ounce of fear and yet you're frightened of alligators minding their own business."

"Yeah, but if they decide to attack, you can't reason with and bring an alligator to the Lord."

He chuckled and New Orleans came into view. They could tell even from this distance that it was a big and busy place. It wouldn't be surprising if it could boast being the biggest city in the south.

Kid asked for directions to the local bawdy houses to a man who didn't look as if he would be offended to be asked, and he gave them, but it must have seemed an odd choice for a couple, especially when their occupation was plain to be seen on the cover of the wagon and in the Bible that Ruth held. Since Lydia and Camille, they had an increased heart for the women entrapped in that lifestyle. Ruth also had compassion for the owners and exploiters as well though Kid had less patience with them.

A couple streets later, they found themselves on Rampart Street. It seemed like a pleasant enough street. There were plenty of shade trees and nice-looking houses. Clearly they must've taken a wrong turn somewhere.

They saw a little black girl of 11 or so jump roping in the street. Her clothes were finer than most though the modesty of them and the air of innocence suggested that she was not a prostitute.

The child stopped and gathered her rope in one hand. "Ya'll lost?"

Ruth gazed down the street at the fine houses. Clues like toys and the fact that no one had come running to see who'd made the clatter the wagon created from riding on cobblestones implied that families lived on this street and not women of ill repute. "We might be. You live in one of these houses?"

She pointed to the lovely house behind her done in the Greek revival style, a popular style in New Orleans judging from all the others they'd seen. "Sure do. My mother can give you directions to where you want to go." She immediately turned around and ran up to the front door, expecting they would follow without question.

They got down from the wagon and followed her.

The inside of the house was as opulent as the outside suggested maybe even more so. Velvet-covered furniture, oil paintings, and a crystal chandelier could all be seen from the entranceway.

"Mother, visitors!" the girl called.

A tall woman with a deep ebony skin tone came and greeted them. "I'm Cecile and this is my daughter Grace, but maybe you already know that. May I help you?" Her speech was very melodic and refined, suggesting education.

Ruth explained their reason for being in New Orleans. "My name's Ruth Cole, but you can just call me Sister Ruth and this is my husband, Kid Cole. We were looking for the city's saloons and brothels to minister to those poor souls. We also do revivals, faith healing, and just anything else we can do that seems like the Lord needs us to do. I guess you could say we're the Lord's jacks-of-all-trades."

"She mostly does those things. I just follow behind her and make sure some of the more 'lost' don't get out of hand," Kid added modestly.

"I think that's so charitable," Cecile said. "You really must stay with us while you're here. As you can see, this house can more than accommodate 4 people."

Grace looked at her mother admiringly. They had their differences, but she was the soul of southern hospitality and charm.

When they hesitated a moment, not wishing to impose since they had money for a hotel, Cecile continued, "Please, consider it my contribution to the cause."

Ruth smiled and Kid tipped his hat. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, "we'd be honored."


	2. Chapter 2

"You can tie your horses in the back for now, where we have a little more yard," Cecile told Kid and Ruth. "They can eat the grass. It could use a trim. Grace will show you tomorrow where you can take them to be stabled."

Grace followed them out, interested in taking a closer look at the horses.

"This is Horse and this one over here is Grace," Ruth said, performing the introductions.

"You funning me?" she asked a hint of suspicion.

"Not a bit. We named her that to remind us of God's grace and Kid named him horse cause he couldn't think of a real name," Ruth said with a sparkle in her eye.

"I believe in calling it like it is," was Kid's light response.

Grace gave both horses a friendly stroke on their heads, but it was Carmel she took a liking to over the horse who shared her name. She saw her caramel-colored coat sticking out from where she was tied to the back of the wagon and went over to say hi.

"This is Carmel, Grace's mother. You couldn't ask for a gentler horse," Ruth said.

Grace laughed as Carmel searched her pockets for treats. "Sorry, Carmel, maybe next time."

Kid lifted her up onto her back.

"Whoa, this is higher up than I thought. We ain't never had horses. We just walk where we want to go or we can take the train now. You ever been on a train? New Orleans has one with real tracks and everything."

"You're talking about the cars that are pulled by horses down the track, aren't you?" Kid asked.

"No, sir. We got some of those but we got one just powered by steam like the Tom Thumb. You got to ride it while you're here. It's as loud as thunder, but boy, does it ever go fast; you find yourself on the other side of New Orleans before you've had time to get your bearings."

"Well, I'll be," Ruth declared.

Ruth went back to the front of the wagon where she guided the horses to the back while Kid stayed with Grace to make sure she didn't fall off.

Grace them helped them tie the horses in the yard and carry their essential items into the house. She showed them where their room was, which was as lovely and expensively furnished as the rest of the house.

Back downstairs where Cecile was watering the flowers in the foyer, Grace started telling her mother all about the horses; she listened with a smile. Suddenly, a white man of average height and build and elegant dress came in without knocking. He went over and kissed Cecile's cheek. "Is that a new dress, Cecile? The color looks good on you."

"Thank you, Christophe. And you look as dapper as always," she returned. She gestured toward Kid and Ruth. "Mr. and Mrs. Cole, may I introduce Mr. Christophe Mollette." Then, "Christophe, this is Mr. Kid Cole and Mrs. Ruth Cole."

"A pleasure," he said, shaking their hands. He patted the top of Grace's head affectionately.

"I must talk to you about something of great importance," Cecile said to Christophe.

They moved further down the hall where they could have a private conversation.

"That's my father," Grace said, answering the question both the Coles were wondering.

"Does your father live with you?" Ruth distinctly remembered Cecile implying that there were only her and Grace living here, but maybe he had a job that kept him away.

"He lives with his other family," Grace admitted, the resentment coming through loud and strong. Even though placées were the norm around Rampart Street anyway, Grace looked to the floor. She was old enough to know that what had become accepted to a degree in New Orleans was taboo in the rest of the country both because of her parents' differing races and because they weren't officially married.

Ruth gave her shoulder a gentle, comforting squeeze, showing that at least they didn't hold it against her.

A burst of laughter erupted from Christophe at whatever Cecile had told him and he said loudly enough for them to hear, "Now, my dear, the monkey smothers its young one by hugging it too much. Grace must be given the wings and freedom to shape her own interests and wants."

Cecile clearly didn't agree, but she and Christophe joined them again.

Christophe looked at Kid and Ruth. "What business have you in New Orleans? I don't believe I was told why you are Cecile's guests."

"How thoughtless of me," Cecile said. "They are here to help the plight of the frail sisters. They do a traveling revival as well, which reminds me, you must come to church with us tomorrow. I can introduce you to some ladies there who will want to help in whatever way they can."

"Ah, yes, pauvres diables." Christophe said with a shake of their heads. "I find the practice very repulsive myself. If you cannot afford to keep a woman, a man has no business with a woman. Why you wouldn't even know if she had your child. You're sentencing your own flesh and blood to God only knows what."

It was easy to see he truly was repulsed by it and yet the man was blind to the fact that even though he supported Cecile and Grace financially, which was commendable, what he was participating in was as lacking in morals. Ruth wondered why he didn't see that he was hurting Cecile and especially Grace, not to mention his other family, by having 2 families at once; it was selfish.

Grace thought she knew of what they were speaking when they said frail sisters. She'd seen the ladies who were all made up with no families but plenty of male visitors. Her mother was certainly not of that class and she was glad of it. She would most certainly not enjoy a parade of men coming and going.

The clock in the parlor chimed. "It's time for dinner. You both must be famished," Cecile said.

"We still have some food supplies out in the wagon. We don't want to put you out as we know you weren't expecting guests for dinner," Ruth said.

"Nonsense. I always have our cook make extra. It won't be an inconvenience in the least."

Grace jumped off the last 2 stairs she'd been standing on, causing her skirt to lift just a little.

Her mother sent a look of disapproval at the unladylike move, but her father chuckled. "Still have des jambes de manches-à-balais I see, but I'm glad you do. You'll grow up and leave us soon enough."

Grace flushed at his remarking on her broomstick legs. She was glad that their guests likely didn't know any French. He was only joking with her, she knew, but she was too old at 11 for such teasing.

A black woman in her 60s or so hunched over with age set steaming bowls of food in front of them and then glasses of ice-cold milk.

Ruth thanked the woman and then asked Cecile, "Do you care if I ask the blessing? I'm very thankful for His provision for us by getting us lost right at your doorstep and I'm libel to burst if I don't thank Him for it."

The startled looks hinted that though they attended church, they weren't used to saying grace, but she gave a nod and they all bowed their heads.

"Dear Lord, we thank you for allowing us to forge new friendships. Just goes to show us that even the simplest mishap is used for Your glory and have mercy on us sinners. We thank you for this bounty. In your name, we pray, amen."

The dish was a mishmash of ingredients, some clearly definable and some not.

"I saw your fine horses," Christophe commented. "If they need a place, I have a plantation where they'd be welcome to stay free of charge."

"We'd appreciate that," Kid said.

No one could say Christophe wasn't generous.

"I wonder how she gets it so hot?" Grace mused more to herself than to the present company.

Ruth must have had similar thoughts though not for the same reasons as she drank her milk liberally. She was too considerate not to finish the food. When she ran out of milk, Kid laughingly pushed his milk glass toward her to communicate she was welcome to it. He had grown a taste and a tolerance for the spicy in some of the cantinas he'd been too in the past.

Ruth finished first, having practically shoveled it in to get the torture over with as quick as possible.

When Grace had finished hers, she commented, "I could taste alligator, rice, tomatoes, thyme, and salt. She must use a lot of cayenne pepper or maybe it's chili pepper."

Ruth looked a little green around the gills from the mention of the first ingredient. She'd thought it was maybe a tough kind of chicken.

"Grace, I appreciate that you enjoy your food, but I really wish you would concentrate on the enjoyment and not what it's composed of. That's for the hired help to worry about."

"Nothing wrong with a discerning palate," her father said, always defending her to a fault.

"I'm very sorry," Camille said to Ruth, her lack of enjoyment, having not escaped her notice. "I forget not everyone is used to some of our more spicy dishes. Is it the first time you've eaten alligator?"

"It didn't taste fishy like I thought it would," she answered. "I honestly wouldn't mind eating it again and the spiciness was an experience too."

"But not one you care to repeat? I'll see to it that she tones down a batch for you when something on the menu is spicy."

"Thank you," Ruth said, truly grateful.

"Ever hunted alligators?" Christophe asked Kid.

"Can't say that I have."

"Hunting them is quite the skill and challenge. I have a feeling you'd enjoy it. I'd be happy to get a party together and take you on a hunt."

Kid looked thoughtful and definitely interested. "I might take you up on that."

Dessert was apple pie. This was a dish more familiar and one they all greatly enjoyed.

"Mighty good," Ruth said afterwards. "Can't remember when I've had better. We don't get a lot of home-cooked meals traveling the way we do, so thank you."

"Yes, thank you," Kid added. "If you'll excuse us we'll see if we can't find our way to the street we were looking for before it gets dark."

Christophe dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "Wait for me and I'll show you there myself. My carriage is just out front."

Kid took Ruth's elbow as they went to get their hats and leaned in, in case they could hear through the door and said teasingly, "You thought those alligators were going to eat you and you ended up eating them. That's a bit of irony, wouldn't you say?"

"I know one thing, you go and catch yourself an alligator and I might decide to smoke it, but you can just find someone else to skin it for you cause I ain't putting my hands all over its scaly hide and teeth."


	3. Chapter 3

Grace was practicing the piano, a chore she hated. She suddenly started to pound the keys. Instead of a lilting melody, it sounded the piano was dying a violent death. She smiled; this was a great way to work out her frustration.

"Lightly, Grace, lightly," her mother called from the other room, having taken notice of the change in music style.

"My hour's up. I ain't practicing anymore anyway," Grace called back.

"You are not," she replied.

"That's what I said," Grace said deliberately ignoring her mother's real meaning.

"Oh, Grace. How do you ever expect to make a match?" A resigned sigh and then she said, "Fine, it is past your practice hour."

She jumped from the piano bench with relish.

The door had been left unlocked for Kid and Ruth's return and as they came in, she heard laughter, the kind of laughter that said 2 people were truly enjoying each other's company. She went to the doorway and peeked out at them.

"Good thing you were there to catch me," Ruth said, mirth still evident in her voice. "I tripped over my shoelace, I believe."

She raised her hem a little and one of her black square-toed shoes were indeed unlaced. Kid squatted down and tied it for her. Grace thought that was a sweet thing for a man to do for his wife.

"Thank you, honey," she said, patting his cheek affectionately when he stood back up and also adjusted his crooked collar.

They were looking at each other like he was the only man in the world and she the only woman. They were almost foolish over each other, but it was the kind of love she wanted and that's the kind she would have or she wouldn't have it at all.

She was sure that her parents loved each other in their own way, but she didn't understand how her mother could be satisfied with sharing him and she didn't understand why her father needed both a white and black family. Why hadn't her mother been enough? Why wasn't she enough?

Her mother had other plans for her than finding a love match, plans to set her up with a white Creole like her father. She said it would ensure she remained a free person of color, but it didn't seem like freedom to her to be little more than a mistress even with the lavish lifestyle that came with it. True, there were some who didn't have other families, but it still wasn't considered suitable to live with them. However, there was one bold white man, a Spaniard, who lived with his black Creole woman. The main thing was though that the law didn't recognize it as a marriage, so there was always a possibility of the man leaving or marrying a legal wife without so much as a by your leave.

That sort of union just didn't appeal to Grace. That was one of the reasons why she fought so hard against being a proper lady, one who spoke just right and had just the right accomplishments. The other reason was she strongly believed in the freedom to be herself. Others would have to like it or lump it.

Kid did finally see Grace over Ruth's shoulder. "Hello, Grace."

She stepped out into the foyer. "Did Father take you to where you wanted to go?"

"He did. Your father's a very nice man," Ruth said.

Grace couldn't help her curiosity. "What did you do there?"

"We just reminded the ladies of how much God loves them," Ruth answered.

"Is that all?' She was disappointed. She'd expected something exciting.

"You'd be surprised how many people don't know it or have forgotten it," she replied.

Her curiosity was stimulated again. "What'd they say?

"Some laughed, some got angry, some cried, some said nothing at all. But all were invited to the arms of Jesus. That's what is important," Ruth said. "Unfortunately, it's not often they come, but if even one soul is saved from it, it's worth going."

"Will you go back?" Grace asked.

"Of course, you can't just show up and say a lot of words; it's showing them love too. 'By your fruits are ye known.'"

"I thought I heard someone playing the piano," Kid said.

"That was me," she said sheepishly, realizing they'd probably only caught her banging on the piano.

"Can we hear?" Ruth asked with a smile.

Grace took them to the piano and this time put more effort into it. She played a hymn with only one or two mistakes.

"That's very fine," Ruth said. "You know music is a way to bring glory to God. He delights in it."

Grace hadn't thought of it that way before. She'd only thought of it as a means to ensnare a husband. Maybe piano practice would be easier if she remembered that.

"It was some nice playing. Now how about something we can dance to?" Kid asked.

Grace smiled and played a faster-paced song as Kid led Ruth around the room about as ungracefully as a man could get without falling to the floor, but the couple didn't seem to mind. They just laughed.

sss

Grace and her mother attended a Methodist church. It was in a building that reminded you it wasn't a little country church but very much a city church by the bigness and grandness of it.

"Good morning, Reverend Drake," Cecile said.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cecile, Miss Grace," the reverend returned.

"These are our new friends, Mr. Kid Cole and Mrs. Ruth Cole. Sister Ruth is a faith healer as well as a revivalist and reformer. Would you mind if she demonstrates the Lord's might after the service?"

"Not at all," he said, though his smile said he had some reservations about it.

The congregation was a mix of black and white, causing Ruth to smile. This was how it should be: all God's people worshiping together. And yet it wasn't total unity because there was a segregated gallery for the blacks.

Ruth and Kid broke the segregation rule though by sitting with Cecile and Grace. A little tittering went on because of it but likely they just assumed they were quadroons, which was fine with them.

Cecile gathered all the promised women from the black gallery, 4 women in total, obvious friends of hers. They met in the corner and when Cecile explained Ruth's cause, they seemed open to it. One of the women asked how they could help.

"You can contribute Bibles, open your homes for a little while if they're looking to get away, or just your time. Someone who's willing to teach them how to sew or how to cook would be wonderful. You see these women are often lacking in skills that are suitable to support themselves. We know how limited a woman's work choices are anyway. There's practically nothing for them if they lack these skills."

"Well, Bibles we can certainly do and we'll see if we can't find time to organize some lessons in our homes," said one of the women.

"I warn you, a lot of the women are hardened," Ruth said, not wanting them to go in with blinders on. "They may not always be pleasant students even if they want to learn."

They nodded, but it didn't seem to dampen their eagerness to help.

Back on the pew, Ruth asked Grace as she searched the crowd of faces. "Does your father go here?"

"He attends Mass," she answered.

"Well, so long as he worships somewhere," she said.

"Amen," Cecile said.

It really was just as well, Grace thought. It wouldn't make them any more of a family to go to the same church and how could she bear to see her father with his "real" family. She had seen her father's wife from a distance once, a heavyset woman with dark blonde ringlets. She had briefly glanced in their direction and the angry look she had given had said that she and her mother were the usurpers when her father had met her mother first. She had two younger half siblings with golden hair and blue eyes. She didn't know if they even knew who she was, but if they did, they'd no doubt been taught to hate her from their mother. The way Grace saw it only her mother was her true family member.

The sermon wasn't overly long. It was over almost as soon as it had begun and the pastor invited Sister Ruth up true to his word.

The congregation watched in amazement as 2 longsuffering members were healed before their very eyes.

"Wow, you really are a healer," Grace said when she rejoined them and as they stood for the final hymn. "There's a lady in New Orleans that heals people too."

"Really. A midwife?" Ruth asked.

"No, but she heals people just the same. Mother got a potion from her once."

"A potion? I'd like to meet this lady," Ruth said, meaning it.

"I can take you to her house tomorrow. I know where she lives. It ain't far from our house."

Kid smiled to himself. No doubt this unsuspecting woman selling potions was about to get an earful.

"_Guide me, O my great Redeemer,  
pilgrim through this barren land…"_


	4. Chapter 4

"What did this healer cure your mother of?" Ruth asked as they walked to the woman's house the next day.

"Well, nothing really. It was supposed to make Father fall more in love with her."

"I see," Ruth said, her frown deepening.

"He spent more time with us for a little while, but it just wasn't a strong enough batch, I guess. Mother was too disappointed with the results to go back and get more. I think she thought the potion would make Father leave his wife."

"You know that sort of stuff ain't real, don't you?" Ruth asked her.

It was Grace's turn to frown. "But why would she make it up?"

"For the money, the power," Kid answered.

"But then why ain't people called her out on it?" Grace asked.

"Cause folks can convince themselves things are true if they want to believe hard enough even when it comes to healing," Ruth said.

"Is that what happens when you heal people too?" Grace asked. "Folks just believe they've been healed?"

"I imagine there's been some who've deceived theirselves about the healing, not really understanding it, but God is the source of the healing and all that's good and right. You start monkeying with stuff apart from God, and I won't say there ain't some power in that for a time, but it ain't stuff you want to be messing with."

Grace stopped in front of an unassuming cottage on a corner. It wasn't a shack, but it wasn't as big as Grace and Cecile's home. They heard voices coming from inside.

"I'm still not sure about this," said a nervous young woman. "How do I know you're legitimate? That's a lot of money to ask if I'm not sure it's going to work."

"Then let me set your mind at ease. Renee Aragon, your cousin and once dear friend, stole your suitor's affections from you. Not only have you lost a marriage prospect, but your family's fortune hangs in the balance and he was you ticket out of those troubles."

The woman gasped audibly. "How could you possibly know all that? My family's told no one about our financial difficulties. No one."

Rather than answering, she said, "This powder will destroy your enemy. You can be sure of that."

The silence confirmed that money was exchanging hands and the girl came out looking very satisfied.

Kid knocked on the door. "Marie Laveau?" he called.

"Yes, come in."

The three went in. Marie was a statuesque woman with light brown skin and hair that was wrapped in a cloth around her head. She wore colorful clothing and exuded confidence. "And what can I do for you fine folks?"

Ruth shuddered as she caught sight of a large snake slithering in a cage in the corner. "We're not here for anything," Ruth said, her tone both kind and yet stern. "We're just interested in learning more about you."

Marie's eyes squinted as if she were viewing something unseen. "You've been married to this man here sometime, but you are without child."

Ruth had to admit she was a little startled, but she knew there had to be a trick to it or maybe it was simply a lucky guess.

"I can put together a potion that will give you children," Marie continued.

For a split second, Ruth was tempted. The woman had zeroed right in on her weakness.

"If God so chooses to bless us with children, He will," Kid said. "We don't need your sorcery."

"I know God. You think I don't? Is this what this visit is about? I attend Mass everyday," she said as if that absolved her of any wrongdoing. "Even a priest has granted that there is nothing wrong with voodoo. It is an art, a way of life, brought over from deepest Africa. The spirits are simply mediators like the saints."

"I only believe in one mediator and that's Jesus Christ. Adopting bits and pieces from the Bible that suit doesn't make you a follower of Him. You can only serve one master."

"Well, you can say whatever you want about the rest of voodoo, but I truly heal people," she said.

"My grandmother and aunt do that much, both midwives. You put herbs and plants with healing properties that the good Lord provided for you in your potions, don't you? Ain't nothing wrong with it, but when you tell people your spirits or whatever it is you serve helped conjure it up, not only is it a lie but you put people's mortal souls into jeopardy."

"What does it matter if I provide a little spectacle for white folk at Congo Square and make black folk feel a little more empowered. I care about people and their souls and if I get a little money out of wealthy white folk, tell me who does it hurt? Nobody."

"It does hurt. It hurts their soul if they fall for the lies you're telling them."

"Well, I don't think so and most of New Orleans doesn't think so. I'm the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans for a reason." She opened the cage and lovingly draped the snake across her shoulders like a feather boa.

"Are you? Are you trying to tell me that voodoo is equal to the answers found in the Bible? That that snake is a match for the Lord Jesus Christ?" Ruth's color was high and her voice grew louder and sharper though she wasn't yelling.

"Yes," Marie said calmly as the snake coiled around her. "My Li Grand Zombi is important. God may be omnipotent, but does He really care? Li Grand Zombi is with us, a bridge between heaven and earth."

"God cares and Jesus is our bridge. The Holy Spirit is God with us. He dwells inside us when we ask Him too. You can't get any closer to a body than that."

"But the snake has power. Wasn't it Moses that held a snake up and when the people of Israel looked to the snake, they were healed?"

"Under God's direction as a foreshadowing to Jesus Christ. 'And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up.' In fact, I challenge you to come to this Congo Square you're talking about and show people how you and your snake can heal. People will see who the Great Healer and Physician really is and He's not a snake."

"I accept your challenge. We meet Sunday night. Will you be there?"

"You can count on it," she said before going for the door. Kid and Grace, who'd been silent but who had watched the debate with great interest, followed.

"What have I done?" Ruth asked once they were away from the house. "I only meant to reason with her. Let her know of God's love, but I let my temper get the best of me."

"I don't think it was a bad idea. People need to see her for the fraud she is," Kid said. "It wasn't about about you showing off but showing off God."

Grace looked thoughtful. She still hadn't decided who to believe. She respected both women, but how could they both be right? Maybe Friday night would help her decide. "I hope Mother lets me go. She says the voodoo on Congo Square is too wild for a little girl."

"Well, if she says so, it must be so," Kid said. "I'll make sure to tell you all about it though."

"Fakers like that lead so many off the straight and narrow path," Ruth said with a shake of her head, "but sometimes I think it's theirself they deceive most of all. We must remember to pray for her." She brightened again. "Well, Friday's a ways off yet. We got a revival to plan."

**Historical Note: Marie Laveau was a real historical figure.**


	5. Chapter 5

It was 75 cents for a roundtrip ticket on the steam-powered train. Kid bought train tickets for Ruth, Grace, and himself Wednesday. It wasn't but a few minutes later, the train shrieked with steam as it came to a standstill and passengers got off.

Kid stood just admiring the machinery. "Can you believe man made that? Do you know what it would mean if this county became connected by rail?"

"I know what it would mean if we miss getting on, 2.25 that might as well have been tossed to the wind," she said, smiling.

The seats inside weren't overly comfortably. They let Grace take the window seat. They didn't have to wait terribly long for it to start moving and Kid took Ruth's hand, sensing she wouldn't mind a hand to hold onto as she was not as onboard with riding a train as he was. Grace who had been acting the old hat couldn't hide that her eyes were alight with excitement as it got going.

The train covered 6 miles. It was going a nauseating 25 mph and the mixture of farmland, woods, and swamp seemed to pass by in a blur. It seemed they had hardly sat down before it reached their destination.

They got off and got lemonades, their mouths feeling somewhat gritty after the ride. Grace recommended an outdoor café and they had a light lunch. Ruth invited everyone she saw to the revival that afternoon. By the time they got back to the station, the train was due and they rode back to where they'd started.

"That was fun," Ruth commented as they disembarked for the second time. "A waste of money when a person can go by foot or horse just as easily though."

"Well, maybe they'll lower the prices once the newness of it wears off," Kid said

They went to the field where they were holding the revival. It was sparsely attended but the numbers seemed to go up everyday as word of mouth spread. It was Grace's first time going and she decided then she wanted Sister Ruth to win the healing contest as she watched the healings take place. It wasn't about the power or display for Sister Ruth. She truly seemed to care about the people she was healing.

When they got back to the house, they discovered that Christophe had come for supper and for Cecile's companionship if her dusky glow was any sign.

"Did you three have a nice time exploring the city?" Cecile asked.

"Your daughter proved a great guide," Kid said.

"We're glad you're back to join us," Christophe said. "You know what they say conversation is the food of ears. There's few things I enjoy more than good table conversation."

Ruth asked the blessing.

"You are the talk of the city," Christophe said to Ruth. "Everyone wants to be at Congo Square Sunday. If you don't watch you will soon rival Marie Laveau and she didn't become the top Voodoo Queen in New Orleans by accident."

"What's that mean?" Ruth's fork came to a standstill midway to her mouth.

"Oh, I don't think your life's in danger," Christophe rushed to explain, "but I'd watch your step just the same. I heard she used brute force to run off some of the other voodoo queens. Not that you're a voodoo queen, but you're a threat to her nevertheless."

"I don't believe it," Cecile said. "She was perfectly nice the time Grace and I went to see her."

"If you're the right person maybe," Christophe said.

"Can I go to Congo Square?" Grace asked. She'd never have a better opportunity to ask. Her father tended to indulge her whims.

"Absolutely not," Christophe and Cecile said simultaneously.

"I never did ask you when you were planning on leaving New Orleans," Christophe said, looking to Kid.

"We don't plan. It's however long we need to stay," he answered.

"And the Lord usually decides how long we need to stay," Ruth added.

"Well, then we better plan the alligator hunt sooner rather than later. Still interested in it?"

"I sure am," Kid responded.

"I'm busy the rest of the week, but how about Monday? That should give me time to round up a hunting party."

"Sounds good. Looking forward to it," Kid said.

"Oh, Lord, don't let the alligators get him," Ruth prayed out loud partly jesting and partly serious.

sss

Congo Square was packed with spectators, a mass of bodies. The smell of incense infused the air. Ruth, Kid, and Marie stood on a platform with a chair that obviously served as the Voodoo Queen's throne.

"We shall see who the true healer is before the night is over," Marie said loud enough for the crowd to hear. To Ruth, she said, "I give you the choice of deciding who goes first."

"You can go first." Ruth stepped back a little with a skeptical look on her face.

"Who will come and be healed through the mysteries of voodoo?" Marie asked. She held a small golden statue in one hand of St. Juliana Falconieri and in the other a branch that had been dipped in holy water.

A woman with tangled hair and filthy, ragged clothes was dragged up to Marie by two muscle-bound black men. The woman looked half mad and was struggling to get away.

Marie quickly sprinkled the holy water onto the woman and she fell to the ground writhing like she was possessed by demons. The men melted back into the crowd.

"Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name," Marie began. "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen."

Ruth frowned. The words were right, but the attitude was not. The prayer wasn't magic. It was about a heart connecting with its Creator and it had become part of a vile ritual instead.

Nonetheless, the woman stilled at the end of the prayer and rose to her feet, looking perfectly calm and sane. "I am healed."

The crowd applauded. Ruth knew it was an act, a well-performed act, but the people loved it, drawn in by the sensationalism of it.

"We must give Sister Ruth her turn," Marie said, holding her hands up to silence them.

"Who would come be healed in the name of the Lord?" Ruth asked.

A man who was paralyzed was brought up to the stage by friends.

"Do you believe that Jesus Christ is the Savior? That He alone has the power to heal you?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Then call on His name and be healed."

The man strained to get up. Folks weren't healed every time. Sometimes the sickness was the Lord's will, but it was something in his manner; the smug look or the tone of his voice that let her know it was a setup. This man no more believed in God than he believed in the man in the moon. "You don't believe," she said. "I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for you but pray you see the light one day or that the Lord heals you in spite of your lack of belief and trust, but faith healing requires faith."

There were jeers and hisses from the crowd. They moved forward as if they intended to engulf her, but Kid stepped in front of her and fired a shot up in the air and the crowd moved back.

"Bother this lady and we'll see how good voodoo is at deflecting bullets," he warned.

"Now, now Sister Ruth is right in that Mass has its place. You should all go. Don't we all worship the same God?" Marie asked. "But to each his own. I have gris-gris bags for sell to protect the wearer from evil and bring good luck." That last bit of information seemed to further calm the crowd. Drums and a gourd rattle began to beat out a rhythm. The people who were normally a part of the festivities began their wild dancing. "Damballah, ye-ye-ye," Marie called out.

A quick glance backward from Ruth as she and Kid made their exit showed a few women beginning to undress, intending to dance in the nude. "No wonder Grace's parents didn't want her seeing this," Ruth commented. "And you can't reason with them with that mob mentality, especially when most of them have been drinking. So much sin. If they just gave God a chance."

"You tried, but I wouldn't be surprised to find your revival number's increases anyway even if it's only out of curiosity. One thing this did accomplish was to help get your name out there and you're the real deal. You don't hire actors like she obviously does. They'll see that if they look hard enough."

"Hmm mmh. The Lord brings success out of failure."


	6. Chapter 6

"I don't understand why a man would want 2 wives," Kid remarked to Christophe.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Ruth said wryly.

"You should. I mean it as one," Kid responded.

Christophe had picked Kid and Ruth up and was taking them out to his plantation.

"You don't understand," Christophe said. "It's the culture here. Cecile would have been enough, but my parents expected me to take a white wife, one who would be accepted in every level of society and it didn't hurt if she could add to the family coffers."

"I worry about all of those involved. God don't give rules for the fun of it. There's always a reason for it. We follow His rules, we're happier for it," Ruth said.

"It has its complications," Christophe agreed, "but what would you have me do? Turn Cecile and Grace out into the cold? Divorce Yvette? I am trapped."

"I don't know. The question is what would God have you do? I would pray about it and look to His Word. He will make a way of escape."

Christophe filled the rest of the time with light, airy conversation, no doubt uncomfortable with the subject they'd ventured upon.

His house was 10 times grander than Cecile and Grace's. A slave opened the door and lead them to a parlor that while lacking in taste was unarguably decked out with expensive things. The floral wallpaper alone was probably more expensive than anything Ruth and Kid ever owned.

Christophe's wife came to be Ruth's company while Kid went on the alligator hunt. Yvette's golden ringlets reminded Ruth of fat, little sausages, so much so she had to press her lips together hard not to smile at them. She held a small dog under her left arm.

"We have mutual friends," Christophe said to his wife. "This is Mr. Cole. This is Mrs. Cole."

Yvette offered a soft, plump hand and coldly shook Ruth's as if she knew already who the mutual friends were. "Charmed, I'm sure."

"Thank you, sister. It's a pleasure to meet you too," Ruth responded.

From the look of surprise and disgust on the woman's face, she didn't take kindly to being called a sister, but before she could verbalize such, the dog leaped from her arm.

Ruth had almost never seen it to fail. If there were 10 loyal dogs in the room, 9 of them would leave their faithful masters' sides to come over to her. Kid said it was because they recognized a good person when they saw one, that they couldn't resist such a sweet personality. Ruth had a hunch it was because they knew how much she disliked dog hair getting all over her clothes. Maybe it was the Lord's way of telling her to lighten up and that there was a limit to tidiness.

The little dog, as overstuffed as her master, jumped at her skirts, yipping all the while as if she were a long-lost friend. Ruth gave in and sat on the sofa. It quickly jumped up and licked her hand as she proceeded to pet it. Truthfully she didn't dislike dogs just their hair.

On the bright side, it seemed to raise the woman's estimation of her. "I've never seen Bella take to a person like that, at least not so quickly."

"I knew you'd be fast friends," Christophe said. "I'll let you ladies get more acquainted. Alligators wait for no man."

Yvette introduced her to the children. The girl was 6 and a carbon copy of her mother except that her manmade curls were a white blonde. The boy, 4, had his father's eyes but was as well-fed as the sister with the same platinum hair. Ruth didn't get a chance to gauge their personalities as they were sent off to bed after the quick introduction, but from the goodnights passed from mother to children, the dog received more of Madame Yvette's love and attention than the children.

sss

Christophe introduced Kid to 4 other men as dandified as Christophe was, rich plantation owners with too much time on their hands no doubt.

In the distance an alligator bellowed like a bull.

"I have a feeling we're going to catch us a big one," one of the men said.

"Evening is the best time to come out as they eat mostly at night," Christophe explained to Kid as the almost set sun danced on the waters.

The boat was long but not very wide, very like a canoe. All the men fit in comfortably with plenty of room to spare.

One of the men threw catfish from a bucket into the water as bait and it wasn't long before an alligator was skimming the surface not more than a few feet away.

Christophe handed Kid a stick with a pointed metal end. "What's this?" he asked.

"It's a harpoon. It's how the Indians in these parts do it," Christophe explained. "It makes it more of a sport."

Kid felt the weight of it, not having the first idea how to use it. He caught a glimpse of the reptile. Its eyes shone red, making it seem more like he was about to engage a beast from hell rather than a beast from the deep.

One of the men ensnared it with a strong hook and line as if it were a gigantic fish. It felt like an hour that they went along in the water with the alligator in tow, although Kid was sure it wasn't that long.

"He's tired now," the man with the hook announced.

All of the men took their stabs with the harpoons and its blood clouded the water. Then one of the men lassoed a leg of the alligator with a rope. They hauled it into the boat. 2 of the men pulled it up by its tail, Kid being one of them, and another by the rope. It must have been 13 foot from head to tail and about 800 pounds. It was as limp as an old dish rag.

Kid felt the boat sink a little lower with the added weight. They were preparing to further bind the animal when it suddenly crawled to life. The small boat rocked precariously, and for a moment, Kid feared they would be overturned. The man nearest the not-so-dead alligator quickly scurried further back. Kid didn't hesitate; he shot it threw the eye with his gun before it could get turned around to snap its jaws on anyone's arm or leg.

"It might take some of the sport out of it, but I think I prefer it all the same," Kid said.

No one argued with him, having come too close to loss of life or limb.

They carried their prize back to Christophe's. Ruth was waiting on the porch for them, having heard them coming.

"I have a feeling you were praying for us. We had a close call out there," Kid told her.

"I ain't stopped praying for you, you fool," she replied.

Christophe's four friends came out of the shadows and plopped the montrosity down in front of her feet.

Kid was grinning like a cat who'd brought his owner a mouse. "They gave it all to us since it was my first hunt and since I was really the one who really finished it off."

"Oh, Lord have mercy," Ruth said, glancing skyward.

"I think I'll make me a belt," Kid said. "Christophe said it's softer than buckskin leather after its hide's been treated."

"Good luck with that," Ruth said.

Christophe laughed. "My slaves know how to skin it and prepare the meat. I'll bring it over when they're done with it. The carriage is ready and waiting. Sam will take you home."

"Least you came back in one piece," Ruth muttered as they headed toward the carriage.

"Better check when we get home just to be sure," he whispered teasingly, so only she could hear.


	7. Chapter 7

"Tell me this belt doesn't look good," Kid said with a grin.

Ruth just shook her head. The scaly imprint was still there on the brown belt, and as Christophe had promised, it was now as soft and supple as you could imagine. She reached out and touched it, still disbelieving. "I reckon it don't look as bad as I thought it would."

"I'm looking forward to showing this fine piece of craftsmanship off. Looks good against the black, don't it?"

"Nobody cares what's holding up your britches."

"I should've had a reticule made for you. We could've been a matched set."

"I wouldn't have carried the thing. If you're through fooling around, we got a busy day ahead." Though she was fussing, she was smiling.

Grace and Cecile waited at the foot of the stairs with armloads of baskets at their feet. There was more meat on the alligator than Ruth or Kid knew what to do with, so they were taking most of it to some of the impoverished in the city.

Given that it was for charity, Grace's mother had actually let her help the cook make the bread to go along with it. Grace had learned how to crack eggs and mix the ingredients. It delighted her to know bodies were going to be nourished through her efforts and hopefully they'd enjoy the taste of it too.

"Can I help give it out too?" Grace asked, trying her luck.

"May I and you may not," her mother answered. "Your dance tutor is coming over this afternoon and you have to practice your steps."

"I'm going to be 12 on my birthday," Grace pointed out. "Ain't it time I was able to make some choices for myself?"

"That's right you are. It won't be long before you come out into society. We have to prepare. When you are mistress of your own house, that's when you can make your own decisions."

"Fine, but I won't enjoy it." Though she was angry, the disappointment was also evident.

Cecile relented. "I suppose you can go this once, but you're going to dance when you get back double the usual time. I pay good money for that tutor."

Though Grace wasn't altogether thrilled with that bargain, it was better than not getting to go. "Thanks, Mother," she said as she picked up her share of the baskets.

"We'll take good care of her," Ruth promised. "It won't take long either."

Cecile nodded gratefully as Grace went ahead of Ruth and Kid.

Though they had 20 baskets all toll, it didn't take them long to give them away. One mother with a baby on her hip and a couple of shy toddlers peeping out at them from behind their mother's worn skirts cried tears of gratefulness. From the sounds in the room behind, the brood was even larger than the three visible children. Not everyone was as grateful though, Grace found. Some seemed embarrassed, but if they had hungry kids, they generally took it.

"You help people a lot, don't you?" Grace commented when all the baskets were gone.

"I reckon. The good feeling it gives you alone makes it worthwhile, but it also serves to point people's eyes on Jesus if we're doing it right, if we're loving folks right."

Grace understood about the good feeling, having felt it herself. "I don't want to be some white man's lady. I want to be independent and a true wife if I'm a wife at all. I can't heal like you, but I like cooking. I could get me a job doing it even, use it to help people. I know it's only cooking—"

"Only cooking? Folks got to eat, don't they?" Ruth said. "Don't undervalue the gifts the Lord gave you. The Bible says 'For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat.' You feed the hungry and you're feeding Jesus. The size or the number of the gifts that he gives you don't matter as long as you're using it for Him."

"Mother doesn't understand that cooking is my gift. She already has my life all planned out for me," Grace confided.

"Only cause she loves you. She worries about your future; all mothers do. You got your own ideas about it and she's got hers. You're also at that age where mothers and daughters fight, but it gets better, I promise."

"You speaking from experience?"

"I am. My mother and I didn't always see eye-to-eye where my future was concerned, but she's accepted that it's where the Lord wants me to be and we loved each other through it all."

Grace could definitely relate. She hoped her mother someday accepted her as she was too.

The cook was waiting for them in the foyer when they got back to the house. The woman never went beyond the kitchen and dining room, which was the first clue that something was terribly wrong. The other was the sad expression etched in the creases of her face. "Your mother's gone, child."

"Gone?" Grace vehemently shook her head. She refused to believe it. "Mother, mother!" she called, running up the stairs to find her. It was a game to get back at her for the argument they had this morning, not a funny one she admitted. It had to be the answer because how could a woman without a single gray hair be whole and hale one moment and gone the next. It just didn't make sense.

Cecile's room was empty though; the cloying scent of her honeysuckle perfume still hung heavy in the air, but she wasn't there.

They'd all followed her upstairs.

"The neighbors are preparing her for burial," the cook explained. "I'm sorry, Miss Grace. Your mother was a good woman, best employer I ever had."

When she turned, there was Sister Ruth behind her, the gray spots on her lilac dress blurring before her eyes. Grace threw her arms around her and sobbed.

The only thing Grace could think of was that her mother was gone and she'd never had the chance to tell her how much she meant to her and her last conversation with her had been an argument.


	8. Chapter 8

For all of her healing abilities, Sister Ruth wasn't able to raise people from the dead. Her mother wasn't coming back and yet something about it still didn't seem real. Her father had paid a doctor to determine the cause and a slight bulge on her skull had led the doctor to conclude a tumor had been the reason for her sudden death. Her mother had complained frequently of headaches recently. All Grace really knew or cared to know was that she was no longer here.

A service was held the next day conducted by the pastor of their church. She was surprised in a way that her father attended as she had seen him little outside the house on Rampart Street. But he was and he stood beside her in the cemetery.

Her mother was not lowered into the ground but placed in a personal above ground vault purchased by her father. It was a sparkling white building with a small cross on top, surrounded by a black fence. It stood in a row with other vaults like little houses except its occupants were all dead. It made Grace shudder to think of it.

She didn't hear much of what was said though from the tears and occasional amens from those around her, it must have been a moving service. Thoughts of how alone she was and how much she missed her mother were too busy running through her head.

"When I saw your mother, it was like un tonnerre a la voile," Christophe said softly, breaking into her lonely thoughts. "I was in love and I've been in love with her every day since."

The words were meant to comfort, but it only compounded her grief. If he had loved her, if he loved them, showing up for dinner once in a while didn't show it. Purchasing her mother a tomb certainly didn't show it; he should have been there with her in her last moments. What was love if you didn't share life's daily burdens with that person? It was shallow at best. But she held her tongue for once in her life. She was too weighed down with sadness for a smart retort.

People began to move, indicating it was over. Grace thought about her future and not her loss for the first time since her mother's death and a sense of panic swept over her.

She had no other relations on her mother's side, not so much as an aunt or a distant cousin. She couldn't stay in the house she had called home all her life as much as she would've liked to, not alone. Where did it leave her? "Where will I go?" Grace asked out loud.

"With me, of course," Christophe said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Her mind reeled at this information. Live with her stepmother, if she could be called that, with her half siblings? Had her father flipped his lid? They couldn't be okay with her joining the family. She wasn't sure she was.

But her father didn't notice her concern. He had done turned his attention on the Coles. "Where will you stay until your work is finished?" Christophe asked them.

"Don't worry about us," Kid said. We've slept out under the stars with nothing more than a bedroll. We're used to living out of a wagon."

"Maybe so, but I insist you stay on my plantation for the duration of your stay. Cecile would have wanted it that way."

Kid and Ruth both hesitated at the invitation, but when Ruth saw the hopeful look on Grace's face at the thought that she might not be alone in this new household, she couldn't say no. "It'd be our pleasure," Ruth said. "If it's okay with your wife. We wouldn't want to intrude on a…on what could be a delicate time."

"I assure you, she won't mind. I think she gets a little lonely. She will be delighted to have some female companionship."

Christophe went to thank the other mourners for coming and tell the pastor what a good job he had done, presiding over the affair like he was a true and natural husband. It was hard for Grace not to resent him for it.

"Thank you, Sister Ruth," Grace said. "I know we ain't known each other long, but you and Kid seem more like family than just about anybody. You're a couple of the kindest people I know." Grace didn't usually say things like that, but as a result of the tragedy, she had promised herself that she would never let leaving things unsaid happen to her again. If she liked or loved or even just thought a lot about somebody, she intended to tell them before the opportunity was gone forever.

They left the cemetery in her father's carriage. She sat between Ruth and Kid as if they could shelter her from what was coming. The clop of the horses' hooves on the cobblestone sounded like nails being driven into a coffin to Grace as if she were about to enter a life from which there could be no escape.

As much as she wished they would never reach her father's house, they reached it anyway. The house was imposing, foreign. How could she ever be happy here?

They must have known of her arrival even if Grace hadn't. For her father's other family were all at the door. It wasn't a welcoming look on her stepmother's face, not that she had expected it to be; it looked like pure, unadulterated hatred, and the children as young as they were, reflected that look. There wasn't an ounce of pity for the girl who had just lost her mother.

Grace felt cold all of a sudden and the air felt harder to draw in this house as if she too had been placed in a crypt. It took all her strength not to run screaming from the house.


	9. Chapter 9

Grace jumped at the warm, reassuring hand placed on her shoulder but was appreciative when she realized it was Sister Ruth.

"This is Yvette," Christophe said to Grace.

"Mistress Yvette," Yvette corrected with a sniff. "Let's not forget respect for our elders."

"And Violet and Hugh," he continued, introducing the children, who said nothing. "And this is Grace."

"I assume everyone's eaten by this hour," Yvette said. "I'll have Jon show you to your rooms. If no one minds, I'd like talk to Grace privately. You can come back for her, Jon, after you've shown the Coles to theirs."

"Yes'm," he answered.

"Maybe she could stay in our room," Ruth suggested. "It's been a hard day for her and being her first night in a strange house and all."

Grace's hopes momentarily rose, but it didn't take long for them to be dashed.

"I don't intend on letting anyone mollycoddle the girl," Yvette said. "What she needs now is a firm hand."

Ruth was about to say something and not something nice judging from her expression, but Kid steered her toward Jon and whispered a warning of some sort. She reluctantly followed them to their new room.

"Goodnight, children," Yvette said, a dismissal the two children gladly took.

Ruth wasn't the only one reluctant to leave though. Christophe hesitated as well.

"Now, Christophe, dear, I agreed to take her in out of the goodness of my heart. Now are you going to let me deal with her or not?" Yvette asked.

"I leave her in your capable hands," he said, brushing aside any concerns.

He gave his wife an obligatory kiss on the cheek and then gave Grace a parting pat on the head. Grace didn't think Yvette's expression could have gotten any colder, but this fatherly gesture did it. She managed to seethe silently over it, however, until he was out of the room.

"You think you're something special, do you not?"

"I don't know what you mean, ma'am," Grace said with a polite mask that didn't hide the returned animosity she felt for this woman.

Yvette wasn't fooled. "You think you're as good as my children or better, but you will learn humility. I'll see to that."

What could Grace say to that? Whatever she said, good or bad, would only serve to anger her further, so she said nothing.

The tense, uncomfortable silence didn't last long for Jon returned for her.

Instead of taking her up the stairs or down a hallway, she was led downstairs through the kitchen and out the back door into the rain. Even though there was no moon out tonight, she could see easily enough that she was being taken to the slaves' quarters.

The cabins were no great structural wonder. They were geometrically precisioned like its own little town and the one he took her to looked particularly run down with a leaning chimney that didn't look as if it would be safe to build a fire in it.

The inside didn't look any better. The gentle rain was sending drops of waters splashing into a rusty tincup due to a leaking rook. There were also a couple holes in the wall that had at least been stuffed with rags.

There were no adornments in the small room to give it the slightest sense of homeliness only coarse blankets on the dirt floor. It was a place to sleep and nothing more. She didn't even have the privilege of having the cabin to herself as 2 other girls close to her age were already laying on the floor.

Her surprise and disapproval of her surroundings must have shown plainly enough because Jon said, "Don't expect special treatment just because you're the master's daughter. You're as black as we are."

"I don't expect special treatment," Grace said through gritted teeth. Yvette's hatred of her had even spread to the slaves it appeared.

"You good for anything? Mistress wants you earning your keep," he said as if she hadn't already figured that out.

"I helped our cook some." It was a stretch of the truth. She'd helped their cook once in her whole life, but she had observed often enough when she could get away with it, which admittedly wasn't often, but how hard could it be?

"Very well. Josie could use some help in the kitchen. A scrawny thing like you certainly wouldn't be any help out in the fields anyway. Be in the kitchen at sunup. Think you can find your way back there?" he asked if he doubted her intelligence.

"Yes," she said sharply.

"Watch it, missy. I'm over the house servants. Show me respect and I won't have to give any bad reports to Mistress Yvette."

"Yes, sir," she managed to get out.

She was relieved when Jon left, but the relief didn't last long as she heard the titters of the girls, not even trying to hide the fact that they were talking about her.

She lowered herself to the ground. The blanket didn't look clean. She wouldn't be surprised if it was ridden with pests of some sort, but she was too cold not to use it.

"She's going to get her fine clothes dirty," giggled one of the girls to the other.

Grace pretended she didn't hear. She turned to the wall to hide her tears, trying to imagine that the hard-packed earth was actually her soft feather bed but the fantasy failed miserably.

It was like she was living out the Cinderella story her mother had read to her when she younger from a book of fairy tales, but at least at the end of the day, Cinderella had still been free. Free to leave her evil stepmother and marry the prince. Was she or was she now a slave like the girls sleeping next to her?


	10. Chapter 10

The other girls were already gone when she awoke at first light. Her dress was a wrinkled mess from being slept in, not that she had slept much, being on the hard ground; it was mostly from all the tossing and turning. Her mother would have been appalled at her appearance, but Grace had neither the time nor the means to fix it. She ran for the kitchen.

The cook had been waiting for her with folded arms and now shoved a dress made from cheap muslin into her arms. "I'm Josie. You'll need to change first, Miss Silk and Petticoats. No more high living for you."

She looked around for a place to change.

"Change in the pantry. I won't let anyone walk in."

It wasn't that she didn't believe Josie, but she changed as fast as she could anyway. It was ill-fitting, but she did enjoy the freedom of not wearing so many layers.

Josie handed her some chives and a sharp knife. "Chop this for the eggs."

Grace did but was tearing the herb into jagged pieces with the knife instead of pretty little diced pieces.

Josie inspected her work. "Finer. Chop it finer," she ordered. "You think we got all day?"

She chopped it finer, but it still didn't meet Josie's approval.

"You're useless with a knife, I see. Get the stove going. Can you handle that?" she asked.

"I believe so," she answered.

But she failed dismally. Making a fire looked easy when someone else was doing it.

"Did you lie to Jon?" Josie asked, realizing at once that she had no idea what she was doing in that department either. "He told me you knew your way around a kitchen."

"I didn't lie," she said in a tone just as sharp. She might have to kowtow to her stepmother, but she didn't have to act meek with this woman or any other slave. She was their equal. "I have been in the kitchen before. I learned to crack eggs in one day," she said proudly. "But mother wouldn't let me do much helping," she added.

Josie shook her head. "Just as I thought."

Grace wondered if she were going to tell Jon, who would no doubt put her out in the fields, scrawny or not. Fear passed over her and she wished that she had been just a little nicer when she'd replied. But the woman wasn't as devoid of kindness as she'd originally thought.

"You're going to double my workload," Josie said crossly. "Curse my soft heart. Come here. Let me explain how you start a proper fire."

sss

Ruth and Kid went down a wrong corridor or two trying to find the dining room. When they found it, the only one at the table was Yvette.

"Where's Grace?" Ruth asked, looking very much concerned. "Is she with the children?"

"Who knows what that girl is up to? My children take their meals with their mammie."

"And Christophe?" she asked.

Bitterness became evident on Yvette's face and in her tone. "He rarely takes his meals here."

Ruth felt a touch of sympathy for her. Was it about not liking Grace or was it more that her husband showed little affection to her? Although from what she had seen thus far, she couldn't blame Christophe for not enjoying her company as the woman wasn't exactly a warm or caring personality. And it didn't erase the concern she had for Grace's whereabouts.

Bella sat next to her mistress, tail thumping as everyone was served, and was rewarded with a full breakfast on a plate that was part of the same china set they were served breakfast on. Ruth hadn't had much of an appetite anyway, worrying about Grace, but this irradiated it completely. Nonetheless, for politeness' sake, she ate the scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast in a matter of minutes after a quick blessing, remembering the taste of none of it. Kid didn't dally with his breakfast either. They asked to be excused.

Yvette looked put out with them until Ruth explained they had a full schedule because of the charity work they were doing.

"Oh, then I'm going with you. I'd like to help out some poor, unfortunate souls too."

Ruth forced a smile in the face of her condescending attitude. She was tempted to tell her charity begun at home. Instead she said, "Be ready in an hour?"

"Of course," she said with a smile.

As soon as Yvette was out of earshot, Ruth said, "I'm going to find Grace. I don't care what that woman says. I don't trust that she has no idea where she is. She does and I don't think that's good."

"Like I said last night, don't make it any worse for Grace. Yvette will most likely take it out on her if you make her angry. We should look for her, but let's not make it obvious that we're doing it. If someone asks what we're doing, we got lost."

"Agreed," she said, moving ahead.

They searched the bedrooms upstairs with no luck. Yvette's children hadn't even risen yet.

"Try the kitchen," murmured a pretty young black girl, looking around furtively as if she'd said something she shouldn't.

"Of course, she does love cooking. Thank you," Ruth said.

They found her scrubbing the pots and pans from breakfast, clumsily as she'd never had to do it before. She looked weary and dirty and hungry.

"Grace, you okay?"

Grace dropped the skillet into water with a splash and all but ran to them. Josie had stepped outside to get some ingredients she needed for lunch.

"Oh, the cabin I have to stay in is just terrible," she said, throwing her arms around her.

Kid's grim expression got even grimmer. They'd seen enough plantations in their travel to guess the condition of the cabin. "I'll go see what kind of shape they're in for myself and see if I can't make some repairs while we're here. I guess that'll be my charity work for the day. You going to be okay going with Yvette by yourself?"

"Of course." Ruth said. "That'd set my mind at ease, but if I can arrange it, there ain't going to be any repeat of last night."

Kid nodded and set out to look at the cabins after getting directions to the spot from Grace and finding out which one she had slept in.

Grace revealed to Ruth all that had transpired since she'd left their presence.

"I know it's hard, but think about Joseph," Ruth said when she'd finished. "He was sold into slavery by his own brothers and yet God didn't abandon him and used him for great purposes. Could be God has a purpose for you, so don't let this harden your heart any and believe me when I say I'm going to do everything in my power for you."

"Well, I am learning to cook," she said, trying to find the silver lining.

"There you go. I'll check in on you later, honey, and lend you a hand. There's somebody I'd like to talk to first and I might be gone for a couple hours. Don't forget Kid's at the cabins. Go to him if you need anything at all."

"I will," she promised.

Railing at Yvette would accomplish nothing. She combed the house again, this time looking for Christophe and found him in a study. He was calmly writing a letter to somebody at a beautiful mahogany desk. Ruth had no trouble unleashing her fury on the man.

"Did you know that your wife has reduced your daughter to a slave in your own household?"

"She is not a slave. She remains a free person of color. When she reached adulthood, I intend to bestow a large sum of money on her and she will be able to go anywhere or do anything she likes."

"And in the meantime, you're going to subject her to years of mistreatment to earn it? I'm surprised you even have slaves. You of all people know that the color of our skin doesn't matter. So why do you do it?"

"Don't tell me you're an abolitionist," Christophe said as if abolitionist were a dirty word.

"I reckon I look to the Good Book on the matter."

"And in the Good Book there is slavery," he said, looking triumphant.

"There's a lot of things in there like murder, adultery. Just because it happened historically, it don't justify anything and I'd like to point out to you that the Old Testament says a runaway seeking refuge can't be given back to his master, meaning mistreatment of human beings, slaves or not, is wrong. And the New Testament speaks of freedom, mostly in a spiritual sense, but nowhere does it speak of slavery being a good thing. And let's not forget loving your neighbor as you love yourself. If you wouldn't want to be in slavery then neither should you do it to another human being."

"Alright, I give up. Maybe there is not biblical justification, but surely you see as well as I do that our economic system depends on slaves. And where would they go if I released them? Being free, doesn't guarantee food and shelter and they have never been out in the real world."

"But that should be for them to decide, shouldn't it? Anyway, you've gotten me off track. We're talking about Grace. Do you plan on doing anything about it? Or you going to let her live in a freezing, leaking, dirty cabin through the winter?"

He blanched, indicating he hadn't known she'd been given a cabin to stay in. Yet, he didn't show a whole lot of surprise. "Yvette will grow more used to the idea with time, but I will see to where she sleeps."

"But you're going to allow her to work as a slave while you're other children are pampered like royalty. I know that ain't what you want. Why don't you tell your wife that? You're the man of the house. Why is she running it?"

"Why does any man let his wife run the house? Why don't you ask your husband?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It may look like I'm the more outspoken one and I am, but that don't mean he don't get his say. He's a good man and maybe gives me more freedom than some wives are used to, but believe me when I say, he is the head of the household. I would only take a stand against him if we disagreed spiritually. But once again, we're talking about Grace. Are you or are you not troubled with this arrangement?"

"I am, but sometimes peace is the best course. I intend to keep an eye on my daughter and see that it doesn't go too far. Trust me when I say Yvette will become more reasonable when she's had time to digest it all. It was sprung on her. It's fortunate she's not insisting she be put somewhere else altogether like a slave block or an orphanage."

"Well. I'm sorry Cecile's death was such an inconvenience for Yvette." She stormed out before she said worse. It wouldn't be to her advantage to get kicked off the property before she had a chance to help Grace.

She prayed, which is probably who she should have spoken to in the first place, she prayed that this situation for Grace would only be temporary and that He would show her how she could help.


	11. Chapter 11

Grace's hands were as wrinkled as prunes and her back ached from all the scrubbing, but the dishes were done.

"Start peeling those potatoes," Josie said, not even giving her a chance to catch her breath. "And careful not to nick your fingers."

She picked up the paring knife and a potato. "Easier said than done."

Josie didn't have anything to say to that. She was too busy grating spices for the soup.

"Missy Violet wants to see Grace right away," Jon said, interrupting the work.

Josie didn't look happy, but she didn't have a say in the matter. Grace followed Jon to the top floor.

Violet was waiting on her. She stood in the middle of the nursery holding a beautiful but ill-treated china doll. The doll's pinafore was stained from purple-tinted jam fingerprints, her face was cracked, and the ash blonde curls were a rat's nest, a number of strands had clearly lost their curl. The doll looked like Grace felt.

It wasn't even lunchtime yet and the room was already in shambles.

Violet suddenly went over to a tower of wooden blocks and kicked it over. The middle-aged woman in charge of the girl bent down to pick them up. Grace didn't envy her position for a minute.

"No, Mammie. I want Grace to pick them up."

So now she was a kitchen maid and a nursemaid. Grace obliged because at the moment it seemed less dangerous than peeling potatoes, since she had no idea what she was doing.

She still hadn't discovered why she'd been sent for. She stood looking at the peevish child when she finished while the girl stared back at her. Maybe Violet just wanted to satisfy her curiosity. She waited to be dismissed, but instead Violet said, "I want you to play with me."

It wasn't a plea or a request but a command. She picked up and handed her a rag doll that was even more abused than the china one. It was scarcely recognizable as a doll.

She looked to the girl's nanny for an answer.

"Better do as she says, Missy Grace. You wouldn't want to anger Mistress Yvette."

The girl not only wore a triumphant look but an arrogant one as well. It was humiliating that a little child held such power over her. She sat down on the floor and the girl followed suit.

"Let's go shopping. I saw the most adorable hats in the window today," Grace began.

"No, no, you're my slave, not my friend. But I think we will go to the hat shop. I need someone to hold all the hats I'm going to buy."

It took great restraint on Grace's part not to tear up. Was she not even allowed to escape her troubles in this fantasy world? "Yes, mistress."

Before they could take their imaginary trip to the hat shop, Hugh came bounding into the room, returning from the water closet. His suspenders were twisted and the button on his pants hadn't been fastened. It was obvious he wanted in on the perverse fun from the way he twitched with excitement while his mammie adjusted his clothing. "I want to play. You're going to be my horse, Grace, and I'm a soldier. Get on your hands and knees."

She had no choice; she did as he asked and he climbed onto her back. She was grateful he wasn't any older because he was a strain to carry. She wished she was back in the kitchen paring potatoes.

sss

The small, plump dog ran circles around Yvette and Ruth, barking as if wanting to accompany them.

"I hate to leave her," Yvette said, "but I don't want her exposed to common people. Who knows what kind of disease or manners she could pick up?" She bent down and petted the dog. "Momma will be back before you know it and she will bring you a treat."

Ruth cocked her head in puzzlement. Why did she shower more affection on this animal than the people in her life? She imagined Yvette had little idea herself how common these people they were going to see would be or she wouldn't be going.

The scenery changed from the country to the city to the bad section of the city. This area was foul-smelling as it generally was in overcrowded, poor sections, since there was no sewage system to speak of and trash of all sorts creating an undesirable odor. Ruth didn't enjoy it, but she had become used to it. Yvette drew a scented handkerchief from her reticule and held it over her nose.

Ruth had given directions to the place they were looking for to the driver and he stopped in front of the building.

Yvette was alarmed at their locale. "But—but this isn't where women of our caliber go. Ladies take baskets of food to widows and orphans. Respectable widows and orphans," she added, in case Ruth was confused on the point. "Or better yet, they raise funds to help them."

"Worthy causes, sister, but can you think of human beings in more need of a kind word or friendly face? And the funds you talk about don't often go to the poor, newly arrived immigrants or to the children or wives of those deemed unacceptable by society."

"Well, I'm staying in the carriage," she said resolutely.

Ruth climbed down without her. "Suit yourself, sister. Do be careful though. A rich carriage in this part of the city is libel to be attacked. Does your driver have a weapon to protect you with?"

"It could be attacked in broad daylight?"

"Afraid so. It's just too tempting a target. So take care." she began to walk off, but as she suspected she heard Yvette call out, "Wait!"

She turned and saw as Yvette lifted her hem and stepped into the street, her shoe landing right in a pile of horse muck, at least Yvette hoped it was just horse muck.

When she saw the building they were going to, Yvette said weakly, "But that—that's a house of ill repute." She looked as if she was not quite able to believe it and yet the women leaning out the window, calling out to every man that passed by, proved it.

"On the top floor, yes, but it's only poor people on the bottom floor and no drinking goes on. Kid and I've been here before and made a couple friends who'll look after us if we meet up with any men intent on causing trouble. That's the only reason he let us go without him."

Yvette moved faster than Ruth, having taken the possibility of being attacked to heart. She started to reach for the knob, but then she pulled out another handkerchief and used it to make contact with the brass, wearing a look of disgust and misery. Ruth hadn't intended to make Yvette miserable though that had been the result, but she wasn't as sorry for it as she could have been.

Yvette eyed the rickety stairs leading to the top floor with disdain while Ruth led them to a door. The woman who answered it seemed to have a permanent hunch in her back, her fingers and arms looked stiff, and she squinted as if she'd forgotten how to open them up wide. "I wish I had time to visit with you, Sister Ruth, but I can't afford to stop." She gestured toward a pile of sewing

"Oh, we're not her to interrupt your work. We're her to lighten it some. We're going to help you with your shirts. Oh, and this is Yvette, Yvette, Nan," she said giving quick, to-the-point introductions.

"If you're a friend of Sister Ruth's than you're a friend of mine," Nan said. "I don't take charity, but I guess I don't mind chatting with a couple friends while we work. Might remind me of the quilting bees we had back home."

It was only one room that they went into and a poor one at that. There were no windows to let any sunlight in. Yet the woman had already resumed sewing, seeming to sew more from feel than sight like a blind woman.

"You know how to sew buttons on?" Ruth asked Yvette.

"Of course," Yvette sniffed, looking offended.

Ruth handed her a shirt, a pile of buttons, and the needle and thread, then got her own supplies.

"How much do you get paid to do this?" Yvette asked.

"Not enough, but it keeps a roof over my head and food in my mouth. It could be worse. I could have children to support. I've heard there are a lot more opportunity and pay if a person's willing to locate further west where the women are few and the miners plenty, but if I get out there and there's not or something goes wrong, I could end up living like the women upstairs."

Yvette and Ruth tried their best, but it was slow going for them due to the lack of light.

When the lunch hour drew near, Ruth ventured out and brought back lunches she'd gotten from a nearby pub. The smell of stew, rolls, and pie quickly permeated the tiny room.

"I have something already," Nan said though it was clear that the smell alone was making her yearn for some of it.

Judging from the meager-looking offerings and the fact she had not stopped to cook anything, more than likely it was just old bread or a pitiable sandwich at best.

"Save it for supper. It'll keep, won't it?" Ruth asked. "You've offered us companionship and something to occupy our time. We owe you."

It was a weak excuse for sating pride, but one she latched onto, which showed how hungry she really was. "Well, as long as this isn't charity."

Yvette hesitated when Ruth divvied out her portion and Ruth said, "It ain't poisoned and the placed looked clean enough. I wouldn't have gotten it if it hadn't."

Yvette began hesitantly but was surprised at how good the food was. Nan tried to control herself, but she ate ravenously like she hadn't had a hearty meal in a while.

They sewed some more into midafternoon. Ruth excused herself again. "I'm going upstairs to talk with the girls, but you can stay here," she said to Yvette. "Just going to invite them to the revival again and remind them of how much they're loved by the One that created them."

"You're wasting your time with those women," said Yvette.

"I never consider it a waste to share the love of Jesus. They may not respond to it, that's true, but it ain't only the hearer that's blessed by it."

"Never thought about it that way," Nan said.

When Ruth came back about 30 minutes later, she informed Yvette, "We don't want to get back after dark. Kid will have my hide."

"Thank you for your help. It means a lot to know someone cares," Nan said.

"I only wish we could do more," Ruth said.

"I've never seen so much poverty in my life," Yvette said once they were out the door. "I thought it was only the ones too lazy to work or the one who spends all his profits on drink or gambling that lives in such circumstances."

"The poverty your slaves live in ain't much better, is it?"

"How dare you. That's not the same at all. And I am your hostess. I believe Bella is a good judge of character, but don't speak of things which you know nothing about."

"I know only what I see. I'm sorry if the truth stings."

"Let's talk of something else because clearly we're not going to agree on the matter."

"Surely, sister." Her tone while obliging also said the topic wasn't completely dead.

Seated in the carriage again, Yvette studied Ruth closely. After a minute or two had elapsed, she said, "You're nice-looking, but you're not particularly beautiful."

"Thank you for keeping me humble, sister," Ruth said. She was more amused than annoyed with the comment.

"I don't mean it as an insult. I'm not much to look at either. I think you could improve on your looks though if you fixed your hair fancier and wore finer clothes."

"I believe in a tidy appearance, but no, I don't embellish myself up very often. Only man focuses on the outside. The Lord looks at the heart. We should all try to look past appearances."

"My point in it is that I know I've only seen you and your husband together a handful of times, but he looks at you as if everyone pales in comparison. How many years have you been married?"

"4 years."

"And the newness hasn't worn off?"

"Oh, I reckon it has in ways, but we love each other and God most of all. When you love somebody you work at showing it, and it is work at times, but the payoff's worth it. You form something deeper with time that just the initial attraction and more lasting. You asking cause you want to improve things between you and Christophe?"

The vulnerability she had detected earlier disappeared and her normally proud attitude returned. "Things between Christophe and myself couldn't be better." Yvette changed the topic again. "Grace is haughty, don't you think?"

"Not at all. Feisty, opinionated maybe but those don't have to be weaknesses. If it's paired with love and kindness, and I believe they are in her case, those traits make for a strong character. I think Grace will grow into a fine, young woman."

"In a person of color, it's a weakness. Surely you see that I'm right." She almost looked hopeful as she awaited her reply. She somehow desired to be vindicated in Sister Ruth's eyes, whether it was because she lacked friends or because she thought being held blameless by Sister Ruth would equal being held blameless by God, Ruth didn't know, but she couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear.

"What I see is that you need to rethink your thoughts toward persons of color and your stepdaughter and by rethink I mean see that you need to line your thinking with God's Word."

sss

Kid was on the roof, hammering the new shingles he'd spent the morning making to fix the leaky spots. It was crude as he was no woodcarver, but it served its purpose well enough. He feared falling through the roof though as it was plain to see and feel that the whole roof was shoddy workmanship. His vantage point allowed him to see Christophe coming.

"I've decided Grace will sleep in one of the rooms over the kitchen whether Yvette likes it or not." Christophe's tone was an insinuation he could leave off the work.

"That's good to hear, but she ain't the only one living in these rundown cabins. I'll fix it anyway."

He looked a little shamefaced. "You're right. They are rather neglected. The truth is my stables are in better condition than this. As soon as the harvest is finished, I'll allow them to work on their cabins."

"Generous of you." Christophe couldn't tell if he was being genuine or sarcastic. The man was rather hard to read. "You know girls live here alone, don't you? Who's going to fix their cabin? The men'll be fortunate to have the time and energy to fix their own after a big long harvest. I doubt they'll get around to this cabin."

Christophe considered his words and watched as he nailed a shingle down. "You need some more nails?" he asked as he scooped up a handful that were setting on top of an overturned bucket next to the ladder. He was willing and preparing to lend a hand though the man likely had never done manual labor in his life.

"I am running a mite low," Kid said.


	12. Chapter 12

To not visit the family tomb on November 1, All Saint's Day, was practically unforgivable. It was a day for pulling the year's weeds or growth to keep it tidy and a day to remember loved ones that had passed on. That alone made the day hard for Grace as she'd only buried her mother a week ago, but she and her mother had always decorated and tidied the forgotten or neglected tombs since they had no family tomb of their own. This year there was a tomb.

She'd been surprised that morning when Jon told her the "master" wanted to see her and even more surprised when her father told her where they were going. The others weren't getting a day off to visit their deceased, however, and she knew that wouldn't make them look any more favorably on her, but she had a duty as a daughter.

There was still a coldness between her and her father's slaves, all from their end, as they all knew she was the master's daughter and they knew the life of privilege she'd led up unto now; they resented her for it. They felt like she was getting special treatment now as well and maybe she was in some ways, but it was through no fault of her own. Josie seemed to treat her kindly enough in her own gruff way, however. She'd picked up more of the slave lingo from her and she tried to use it. If she'd talked like her mother or her father, they would only ridicule her more for it.

Her father had taken her to get flowers and a rosary at the market for the tomb. She'd found some purple passionflowers, named for how it symbolized the crucifixion. The petals stood for the 10 faithful disciples, the 5 stamens were for the wounds on his hands, feet, and head, and the fringe represented the crown of thorns.

Her mother loved flowers and the book _La langage des Fleurs _had been second only to the Bible in their house. The passionflower beyond its religious significance meant fidelity. She could think of few words better fitted for her mother. She had been faithful to her father, faithful to her daughter, and faithful to her God. Where she had failed, she was covered because of the work done at the Passion.

The red beads, her mother's favorite color, and large golden cross were a perfect complement to the flowers, and a reminder to Grace that while her mother wasn't here, she was with Jesus.

She and her father didn't speak to each other through most of it. They'd never been particularly close and this change put even more miles between them.

He spoke when they got back into the carriage though. "The dog that yelps doesn't bite."

Her father had a catchy saying for every situation, but he couldn't understand that she had been bitten. Slave rations were meager, not that Josie didn't see to it that an occasional roll or cookie went missing either for them or some poor field slave who needed it, and the verbal abuse she experienced at the hands of her half siblings and stepmother hurt as well. Her stepmother was more than empty air or yelps. And she blamed her father for it if not more than at least equally.

"In another time or place, things would have been different," he said forlornly. She didn't know if he was speaking to her or to the ghost of her mother, but she had a feeling it was the former as his gaze was very far away.

What he meant was that there would have been no 2nd family. They would have been a happy family that lived together, just him, her mother, and her. If he'd really wanted that though, he could have made it happen, moved somewhere that would have made it possible. At the very least, he hadn't needed to marry Yvette.

"The family's going to Mass. I give you my permission to play," he informed her when they returned.

Play? She'd been forced out of childhood. Couldn't he see that? There'd be no more skipping rope or playing games with neighborhood children. "I have the whole day off?"

"Yes." There was a but to it and she knew it without him speaking it: stay out of Yvette's sight.

She ran until the house was barely visible. She wasn't sure where her father's property ended. She knew there were acres and acres of land though. She had to resist the urge to keep running and never come back. Still she slowed down to a proper walk after awhile.

Her stroll took her to a spread of skinny trees that could be called woods if one were being generous. Beyond the trees, she saw a group of older children, who were not her father's slaves, pulling weeds in a field that hadn't been used in some time. Their frames were practically skeletal, but they worked with a frenzy though it was obvious that they were exhausted.

A seven-year-old locked eyes with her and walked over to her. "I'm Mazine. Folks just call me Mazy though."

"I'm Grace," she replied to the friendly girl.

"If the overseer sees you talking to her, you'll get whupped like you ain't never been whupped before," a boy of about 10 warned.

"I don't care. I been working since sunrise without even a break for water, so I figure I can talk to who I want to talk to. If he comes tell him I had to go empty myself in the woods." Grace admired the girl's spunk. She was a kindred soul, but she worried too. She didn't want to see her whipped. "Here we'll talk where there ain't busybodies listening in."

She followed the girl to the small covering of trees separating the properties. "You lost?"

"No. Shouldn't you be doing as your master wants?"

"We're going to escape to freedom soon, so he don't worry me. My daddy's just waiting for the right time."

"What right time?"

"He says the Lord will let Him know and no man, not even massa will be able will be able to stand in his way cause we serve a higher Massa than Massa Bellamy, who will be with us. That's why he gets beat a lot cause massa says he's always spouting off religious nonsense and Momma says I got his mouth." She laughed. "I reckon I do." She moved the sleeve of her dress down, which was little more than rags, and showed her scars. There was an embellished letter B on her shoulder too.

Grace was shocked by the cuts the whip had made and the brand. She'd thought her stepmother a hard mistress, but at least her cruelty didn't go to this level. She doubted even Yvette was this cruel.

"So you escaping to freedom too?" she asked, interrupting Grace's thoughts. "You better not come this way Massa Bellamy would return you quicker than a wink or take you his ownself."

She shook her head. "Just taking a walk."

"You allowed?" Her eyes were as wide as saucers.

"For today."

"No wonder you don't want to escape. I wished I had it so good. You probably never felt a whip, have you?" There was a look of envy there.

Grace shook her head. "No."

"I hope you never do. You decide you want to escape with my family though, I know Daddy'll take you along. Just get word to me. Well, I better go before old Fishbreath checks on things."

It was amazing to Grace that the girl hadn't lost the ability to care for others given her circumstances. She didn't know how she could help her and her family when she couldn't help her own self, but she was going to try.


	13. Chapter 13

Ruth was dusting the top of the wardrobe in their room.

"What are you doing?" Kid asked with a hint of amusement as he stood behind her.

"I ain't going to add to their work if I can help it. I told that nice maid that cleans our room she didn't have to worry about ours. The poor girl works from sunrise to sunset. I know it's only 15 minutes to a day probably she's saving, but that's something. What are you doing back there anyway?" she asked, casting a suspicious half glance over her shoulder.

"Making sure you don't fall off the stool for one," he replied.

"And for two?"

"Enjoying the view," he said, his tone leaving no doubt to the view he was talking about.

That's what I thought," she said, snapping the dust rag at him playfully. "Make yourself useful and go make the bed."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

When she climbed down from the stool, she looked at his progress. She laughed at his efforts. "You're a lot better at messing it up than you are at fixing it up." There was a mysterious lump in the middle of the bed and more wrinkles in the spread than a prune.

"If I was a sensitive soul, I'd be very hurt right now," he teased.

"I'd swear you do this on purpose just so you won't have to do it," she complained as she pulled the spread back to straighten and tighten the sheets underneath.

"Now I am hurt." He got onto the bed and then pulled her down with him. He gave her a full kiss on the lips. "Can I help it if I got other things on my mind?"

"We ain't never going to get the bed made at this rate," she said with exasperation, but the smile playing at her lips said she didn't mind.

However, a knock put a stop to their housekeeping duties.

Kid answered it while Ruth straightened up her hair and dress a bit. They were both pleasantly surprised to find it was Grace.

"Did you enjoy your day off yesterday?" Ruth asked, confirming to Grace that the Coles had probably had a hand in it.

"Somewhat. I met a girl on the neighboring plantation." She described the wounds she had seen and all that she had learned. "Will you help them?" she asked. It was the only way she saw of them receiving help.

Ruth shook her head in dismay, a little teary-eyed. "Of course, we'll try and help those poor souls if we can. I wish we could free them all."

"You did the right coming to us," Kid said. "We'll take care it."

Grace felt immense relief. She couldn't stand the thought of Mazy getting whipped like that again. She had barely slept last night for thinking about it.

"Now the question is how we're going to get a meeting with this family without raising suspicion," Kid said when Grace was gone.

"That might be easy enough to arrange. I'll go talk to Yvette. See if I can't her to arrange a visit at the Bellamys."

sss

Ruth found Yvette playing a game of tug of war with her dog, using a thick silken rope. Bella dropped it when she saw Ruth and came over to her with a wagging tail. She had come prepared this time and put a biscuit down in front of the animal to keep it occupied though she gave it a friendly, parting pat.

"You wouldn't happen to know Mr. and Mrs. Bellamy, would you?" Ruth asked.

"Why the sudden interest in the Bellamys?"

"I heard they're very wealthy and I'm hoping they'll contribute to the fund to offer fallen women a 2nd chance at life."

"They're wealthy enough, but I've never known the Bellamys to contribute anything that didn't benefit them. They're extremely tightfisted. Mrs. Bellamy is rather snooty, but we are neighbors and I think I owe her a visit."

Ruth could gather from her scorn of the lady and reading between the lines that Mrs. Bellamy had paid a visit here and had likely remarked on the poor taste in decoration that ran rampant in this house.

sss

Yvette arranged for a visit the very next day in the early afternoon.

"You go on in," Ruth said. "All that bumping's made me a mite unsettled. I need a few moments to collect myself." She held a handkerchief to her mouth, hinting that she might be throwing up the contents of her lunch at any moment.

Yvette didn't stick around to find out whether she did or not.

Walking around like she was trying to get some fresh air, Ruth looked for the girl that Grace had described. She was fortunate that it was lunch for the slaves and they weren't in the fields but standing in line for their portions of mush. It looked like barely enough to keep a body alive.

She spotted a man and girl going to get in the line.

"You. Are you Mazie?" Ruth asked. Her voice was gentle.

The girl turned and looked at her, confirming that it was.

"We're just field slaves, ma'am. If there's something you need you'd be better off asking one of the house slaves," the girl's father informed her.

Another slave passed by close enough to hear their words and she quickly changed her tone to a harsh one. ""I don't care what you are. Our carriage got dirty and someone has to clean it up. And I need you too, it didn't ride quite right. It made me sick as a dog. I want you to take a look and see if it's the axel or something and don't tell me there's another slave better suited. I want you to look at it."

They hesitated only because if they missed out on the lunch line, they wouldn't get their lunch later even if they had a valid excuse. Still, if they didn't do as a white guest said, it'd be even worse for them.

He got underneath the carriage to see if anything was on the verge of breaking while she handed Mazy her handkerchief. "Wipe the windows, would you, dear?"

The girl did as she asked but looked at her like she was crazy.

"What I really wanted was a chance to talk with you," she said in a low voice to Mazy's father. "I'm a friend of Grace's, your daughter's new friend. She told me of your troubles and my husband and I would like to help ya'll if we can."

"Why would you want to help us?" he asked suspiciously.

"Because you're my brother and what's going on is wrong. I got an obligation to help for the love of our Lord Jesus Christ and for the love of His law, and if I was in your place, I would pray for someone to help me and my family."

"You a Quaker or something?" Mazy's father asked.

"Naw, just an ordinary believer," she answered.

"I trust Grace, Daddy. She wouldn't have told her if she wasn't trustworthy."

"Keep wiping, Mazy, before you draw attention." He said to Ruth. "I think you're the sign we've been waiting on, sister. I'm Russ. I've heard tell there's a sympathetic sea captain whose trade route goes to the West Indies and he will forge free papers for a body to live there in relative safety. The only problem is getting there or I'd have taken the chance myself long ago, but with my wife and daughter, I want to make sure it's as sure as possible. Most around here don't look for slaves too hard cause it's too easy to disappear into the swamps, but Master Bellamy tries hard and if he gets you, chances are you ain't going to live too long. That's how come most don't try at our plantation despite the poor conditions, but well, we got to. Mazy got a terrible fever that almost took her from us the last time she was whipped. I got to protect my baby."

"We can get you to the docks easy enough. I reckon we'll be using the cover of night. Is tonight too soon? They might not know you're missing till morning if we're lucky and with church tomorrow, they might not notice ya'll then."

"We can be ready."

"They can meet us where Grace and I met," Mazy said.

"Sounds like a plan," Russ agreed. "We better go before any of us gets caught."

"Tell Grace I said thanks," Mazy said.

"Will do, honey," Ruth promised.

She rejoined the women to talk to Mrs. Bellamy of the contribution to the cause she knew she wouldn't approve of, hoping neither had taken great notice of her temporary absence.

sss

The 3 were waiting at the agreed upon spot at 7:00 that night. The sun had been down for a couple hours now. Ruth and Kid had brought their wagon and horses.

"Sorry there's so much stuff back there, but we figured it makes it all the easier to hide you," Ruth explained.

Russ' wife looked shyly at the ground. "That's alright, Mistress. It'll be just fine."

"Just call me, Sister Ruth. This here's my husband, Kid Cole. I got food back there in that basket if you folks are hungry,"

"Bless you," the woman said. Their eager looks proved they were all in need of nourishment.

Ruth and Kid waited until they were tucked away and not visible for all the benches and quilts and then Kid headed for the docks."

The moon wasn't quite full but it cast enough light to see by. They hadn't gone but about 5 miles before the pounding of hoofs and whinny of a horse confirmed they were being followed.

"I bet it's old Fishbreath," Mazy grumbled.

"He checks the cabins some nights to either get a woman or to make sure we're all there. Tonight must have been one of those nights and he noticed we weren't there," Russ explained.

Kid brought the horses to a stop and Ruth climbed into the back and used some extra quilts to cover up the openings on both sides of the canvas. They'd planned ahead of time for such an eventuality.

Kid stretched out on the seat like he hadn't a care in the world and played his guitar and sang,

"Our fathers' God to Thee,  
Author of liberty,  
To Thee we sing."

He saw the men ride up and the men knew that he saw them, but he didn't stop; he played through the verse.

"Long may our land be bright,  
With freedom's holy light,  
Protect us by Thy might,  
Great God our King."

The guitar stayed in his lap as he asked, "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

"Name's Fisher and this here is my son, Lloyd. I'm the overseer at the Bellamy's plantation. Interesting song you're singing."

"Just came out recently. I thought it was pretty good myself."

"Any reason you're stopped here in the middle of nowhere?" Fisher asked.

"Yeah. My wife's changing. We came out here to enjoy one another's company as we can't seem to catch us any private time where we're staying. We was on our way to a hotel in New Orleans then decided it was too pretty a night to pay good money on a room. Not that that's any of your business."

"That don't sound like no serenading tune I ever heard," Fisher said gruffly.

"My wife enjoys religious songs."

"Well, you wouldn't mind us seeing if your story checks out then," he said smugly.

"I'd mind quite a bit." Kid pulled out his gun. "Look in there and it'll be the last thing you ever see." He was calm but serious.

Fisher took a step toward the wagon and the click of the hammer was audible. He wisely stopped. "At least have this so-called wife of yours poke her head out. I have a feeling it's stolen slaves you got in there."

"Ruth, I think a couple dead men would spoil the mood. You decent enough for these idiots to see I got better things to do with my time than taking things that don't belong to me?"

Ruth had brought her robe and came out of the wagon in it.

The men averted their eyes, looking embarrassed.

"Sorry, ma'am," Lloyd said. "You understand we had to be sure. Ya'll being out on the same night they escaped and all and we heard you're both fond of coloreds."

"Course we are," Ruth said. "The Lord God made us all whatever our color."

They were taken aback by her honesty. They'd expected her to deny it. It made them trust further that they weren't doing anything so devious as transporting stolen property, not to mention Kid didn't seem to mind too much if he had to shoot them.

"Ah, come on, Lloyd. They ain't going to get themselves mixed up in this business when they got a reputation to uphold. Why if they helped slaves to freedom, they'd be run out of every town they come to in the South." He and Lloyd got back up on their horses. "You let us know if you see a colored family. I imagine you folks've heard of Turner's Rebellion that happened up in Virginia last year. That colored preacher incited all them slaves to murder white women and children. Well, this escaped preacher is just like him or fancies himself as such. He's dangerous. Mr. Bellamy wouldn't mind if you shot them on sight."

"We'll keep that in mind," Kid said.

They rode off and Ruth let out a huge sigh of relief as the tension left her body. "If that wasn't the good Lord watching over us, I don't know what was."

"We ain't out of the woods yet," Kid warned. "I have a feeling they'll be back by just to check that our story checks out."

Russ spoke up from the back. "It's less than a mile from here. If they went back the opposite way, we can make it to the docks sure enough. I been there with Master Bellamy a time or two. Know of a freeman nearby there who'll be willing to hide us until it is if the ship ain't there."

"You sure about that?" Kid asked.

"Sure am or I wouldn't have said it."

"Let's give it about 10 minutes to make sure they ain't circling back right away and we'll stay here and hold them off as long as we can if they come back this way," Kid said.

Ruth and Micah spent those 15 minutes praying while Kid listened for sounds that they were returning.

"We'll be praying your journey goes well," Ruth promised as they prepared to leave.

Kid pressed some money into Russ' hand. "Don't know that it's any good where you're going, but it couldn't hurt. It ain't much, but I hope it helps. Good luck."

They gave their thanks and then the 3 disappeared into the night on their way to freedom.


	14. Chapter 14

Grace had a towel in each hand to bring a hot pan out of the oven and a sense of pride washed over her. This was the first dish Josie had allowed her to make completely by herself. Anybody could make a meatloaf she'd said. So Grace had, using the verbal instructions Josie had given her, only she'd varied the spices a little.

"That's the best meatloaf I ever tasted in my life," Josie praised when she'd sampled a bite. "Maybe it's not just anybody who can make a meatloaf."

"Really?" She'd been helping for less than 2 weeks. She was getting more familiar around a kitchen. Cooking wasn't as much of a punishment as it could have been since she enjoyed it so much. It would have been worse to be working out in the fields.

"Take a bite for yourself," Josie said, holding out the spoon she'd used to sample it.

Grace used it to dig a small piece off the end. It was good.

"Yep, Master Christophe and Mistress Yvette going to be real pleased when they taste this and I'll let them know just who made it."

Grace practically glowed, but her joy didn't last long for Jon came in and said, "Mistress Yvette wants to see you."

Other than their first meeting, she hadn't had any interaction with her stepmother, Yvette went out of her way to avoid Grace and for that she was thankful. Whatever it was about, it couldn't be good. She'd done everything asked of her by Josie and her half siblings. Had they concocted some fictional story or complaint about her? She wouldn't put it past Violet.

Yvette waited out in the foyer. One look at her made Grace's insides feeling queasy, but she held her head up high and looked her stepmother square in the eye. She wasn't going to act guilty before she was even sentenced. "You wanted to see me?"

Yvette wore a mask of fury. Her rage barely allowing her to get out the words she wanted to say. "Mrs. Bellamy was by here today. She told me you were talking to the girl who escaped. One of her slave children saw you."

"I talked to a girl the other day, but I ain't seen her since." All of the words were true. "Why? Is she missing?"

"Don't play dumb with me. Your father might fall for you innocent act, but I don't. I know as sure as I'm standing here you had something to do with it."

"I really don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a filthy liar," she said, spittle flying from her mouth.

"I ain't a liar," she replied as calmly as she could. What she wished she could say to the woman instead. There was a whole slew of things she could call her.

"Something like this could ruin me socially, but you don't care, do you?"

Grace saw little chance of her losing any friends, considering she'd never seen any in all the time she'd been here, or no one had paid her any visits anyway unless you counted Mrs. Bellamy's visit and she'd never seen any invitations come to the house either. Though she supposed it was true that Yvette would be ostracized completely if it was found out that anyone in her household had helped in the escape.

"They got away last night. Jon swears you were doing dishes in the kitchen when all this was taking place. I've asked him to keep an even closer eye on you though. No telling what you'll try and steal. So what I want to know is how you managed it without getting caught?"

"You've answered your own question. How could I manage it?" she retorted, her tone had lost any pretense of respect. The woman in front of her hated her for her skin color and parentage, both of which she had no control over. It didn't matter what she did or didn't do.

"Why you little brat. Talking back to me."

"You asked a question," Grace argued.

Yvette was suddenly pushing her backwards toward the foot of the stairs that went up to the second floor; she shoved her into the storage space under the stairs and then slammed the door shut.

"Let's see if some time in there will mend you of your uppity ways," Yvette said from the other side of the door. "We'll find out if it'll loosen your tongue."

There was no knob on this side for her to let herself out. She could scream, but her screams would be muffled. And no slave would dare let her out. She would have to depend upon Sister Ruth, Kid Cole, or her father hearing her in this big house and Ruth and Kid were still at the revival. Not to mention, yelling would only serve to make Yvette angrier and who knew what the insane woman would decide to do next.

She sank to the dusty, dirty floor. She didn't even brush off the cobwebs she felt get into her hair as she slid against the wall.

All the time in the world wouldn't make her reveal to Yvette how the Coles had been involved. She was almost glad she was being blamed. Yvette would no doubt run them off if she knew what they'd done and she'd lose her only friends here. They must have gotten back to the house and situated long before sunup, not to have aroused the least bit of suspicion.

As proud as she was of her meatloaf, she was even prouder that she'd gotten help for Mazy and her family and she didn't regret it. Sister Ruth would probably say that it was why God had allowed her current circumstances, but was this her reward for being faithful? Maybe she should have taken Mazy up on her offer to leave with them.


	15. Chapter 15

Grace had lost track of whether it was day or night. She'd missed at least one meal, maybe two. With nothing better to do and too little sleep lately, she dozed though some of her time locked in the storage space, but it wasn't at all peaceful. She kept jerking awake with the feeling that something evil was about to get her.

She heard the familiar voices of Sister Ruth and Kid Cole over her head during one such waking. She knocked over a stack of boxes in her eagerness to call out. "Help! Let me out!"

It got quiet and then she heard the thumps overhead stop ascending and descend instead, meaning they'd heard.

She shielded her eyes and took a deep breath as fresh air and light poured into the storage space.

"What in the world? How'd you get shut up in here?" Ruth asked.

She didn't want to tell them the reason why. They would quickly correct Yvette's thinking to keep her from getting the blame and then where would she be? Without friends to let her out when she needed it. "Why'd she make me a slave in my father's house when I'm a free person of color? She doesn't like me."

"Well, I'll tell you, the revival's still going strong, but it ain't the reason we've stayed so long. You are. We kind of thought it'd be best if we let the haze of your father's grief wear off some, so he could see things a little more clearly cause I don't think he is right now, but we ain't going to let your stepmother mistreat you like this."

Was her father grieving? She hadn't noticed. Of course, she hadn't seen him very much, but was it possible that he had loved her mother more than she had given him credit for? Well, it served him right then for choosing to marry Yvette. But still she doubted it. What honor was it to a woman he loved to put their daughter in bondage.

"It's one thing working you like you ain't part of the family, but when she starts getting physically abusive, that's another thing entirely," Kid said with a hard edge in his voice.

"What if you hadn't been able to draw enough air in there or what if there was a black widow hiding in a corner? Any number of things could've happened to you," Ruth said. "Have you talked to your father about how you're being treated?"

"No, he wouldn't care," she said bitterly. As much as she told herself she didn't care either, it still hurt that the man who had fathered her still didn't have time for her even though she was living under his roof now.

"But he loves you. You might be surprised to find that he would help you," Ruth said. "He moved you into the house, didn't he?"

Could she just ask him? Was it really that simple?

"Could be he would," Kid agreed. "Wouldn't do no harm to ask."

She looked toward the staircase. "Is he in right now?"

"I believe he's still out. Looked like his carriage was gone," Kid said.

"It can wait till in the morning then. I feel like stretching out and getting some rest." Her body ached from the cramped quarters.

"Course you do and you must be hungry. How long you been in there?" Ruth asked.

"Since lunch, but I know where Josie keep some biscuits stored. I'll grab one before I go to bed."

"You're a growing girl. You need more than a puny, little biscuit. Let me fry you some taters or eggs or whatever's in the kitchen."

"I'm too tired to eat a big meal. I think I'll just go sleep out in the cabin."

"Don't blame you a bit, honey. Wanting to put distance between you and your stepmother. Why don't you sleep with me and Kid. Kid don't mind sleeping on the floor. Me and you could share the bed."

Again, there was that fear that Yvette would find out and insist the Coles leave. "No, thanks. I'd rather sleep in the cabin."

They wished her good night. Grace went out through the kitchen where she grabbed one of the old biscuits that Josie saved for making puddings and had it eat before she got to the slaves' quarters. She knocked before entering. They were already hunkered down for bed. They sat up when they saw her though.

"What are you doing back here? Don't you have a fancy room of your own now or did you get kicked out?" one of the girls asked.

She would hardly call it fancy. It was just an iron bed in a room that could barely fit it, but comparing it to the bedding found in the cabins, where a pallet would be considered luxurious, maybe it was.

"It's temporary. Just one night. I don't feel safe in the big house."

"Aw, poor little rich girl," she continued, the evident mouthpiece of the two, as the other stood back, nodding her head as if she agreed with every word that came out of the girl's mouth.

She felt blood rush to her face in anger. She'd had enough bullying for one day. "Why are determined not to like me? What'd I ever do to you?"

"You're the reason our mothers were sold off."

"Me?" The anger disappeared in pure shock. She'd assumed they were orphaned, but how could they blame her for that?

"You ain't noticed there ain't any young, good-looking women on the plantation?" she asked.

Now that she'd mentioned it, she hadn't. "What's that mean?"

"Mistress Yvette gets jealous. She don't want a woman catching Master Christophe's eye, so she makes sure there ain't any women around to do so."

She gasped. Was it possible these girls were her sisters?

"It ain't true. As far as we know, your mother was the only other one. That don't mean a thing to Mistress Yvette. If not for you and your mother dividing the master's attentions, she would've never seen them as a threat. Now they're as gone to us as your mother is to you."

Grace was stunned. Yvette broke up families because of her jealousy and she obviously had her father's ear or at least his desire to keep her happy. The idea to talk to her father vanished in the face of futility, but she was still put out with these girls. "I'm sorry about that, but put the blame where it belongs. With Yvette."

"Don't matter where we put it. You and us ain't ever going to be friends. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth; you don't know what it's like to be a slave. One week don't make you one of us, so don't think you can come to us for sympathy."

She went back outside unable and unwilling to be in the same room with them. She was stuck between 2 worlds on this plantation and she didn't belong in either one. The question was where did she belong?


	16. Chapter 16

Grace ended up sleeping in the barn. Straw made as warm and soft a blanket as any she would have had in the cabin and Carmel didn't seem to mind a sleeping companion.

Something was kicking her side, not hard, but hard enough to wake her. She thought at first it was the horse nudging her for a treat, but it was Jon. "What are you doing out here, trying to get us both in trouble? Get to the kitchen."

She wasn't late, the sun was just casting its first rays across the skies, but she supposed he'd panicked when she wasn't in her room or in the cabin being as he was supposed to keep track of her.

"Land sakes, child, you smell like you slept in the barn," Josie said when she got there.

"I did."

"You are a strange one. The master and mistress are dining in the city for lunch with the youngens. Mr. and Mrs. Cole'll be here, but they said they don't want us going to any bother. That they'll fend for themselves. So after you wash up the breakfast dishes, I reckon you got the day to yourself, which is probably what your daddy was aiming for."

Somehow she doubted that her father had given her that much thought, but Grace worked hard, eager for the time off. Josie let her try the eggs. They weren't as fluffy as they should have been though it was edible, but Josie said it was a good lesson: that not every dish turned out perfect the first time. Cooking took stamina and the willingness to keep trying when recipes didn't go the way a person planned. It was an art as much as a science.

Grace took off her apron. She could use the extra time to get some more rest. She thought about it until she realized the field slaves didn't have the day off and then she thought about the girls. She'd gotten a look at their blankets and they were even filthier than the first time she'd seen them. She wasn't about to take the blame for their mothers not being with them, but that didn't mean she couldn't do something kind for them.

She went out to the cabin where the only slaves around at this time of day was a woman too old to work watching the ones that were too young to work. She slipped in unnoticed and took the 4 dirty blankets the cabin had out to the small creek that ran through her father's property on its way to a bayou or the ocean.

She dunked one in and watched as the water turned a little browner and it looked as if some fleas were carried away too. She'd brought out lye soap and a scrub brush and got busy. Her mother would have been appalled by the calluses and dishpan hands she was getting, but she was actually rather proud of them.

She was joined soon after by Sister Ruth, who must have seen her from one of the windows. She rolled her sleeves up and sat down with her. She'd brought a brush of her own and together they scrubbed at the stubborn stains. "Did Yvette set you up at this task?"

"No, I decided to do it on my own."

"Good for you. Do good to those who hate you. You're showing the love of Jesus to them girls when you do."

"How'd you know I don't get along with them?"

Ruth reached over and pulled a piece of straw out of her hair. "Just a guess. But I wish you'd taken me up on my offer instead of sleeping out in the cold barn."

"It wasn't so cold."

"Well, I guess not." As she plunged her blanket in to remove the suds and see if the stain had gone, she commented, "I sure hope there ain't no alligator or other strange critters in here. You never can tell down here. It must be a tricky business when folks go to get baptized."

Grace attempted a smile, but she didn't quite succeed. Her grief was still bogging her down and she wished there was something to take it away.

Ruth didn't give up though. "You know you look a little hot. Let me help you." She reached in and sent a splash over Grace's way.

Grace laughed that time for the first time since her mother had passed. It was a pleasant sound. She reached in and splashed her back. Pretty soon they were engaged in an all water war and they ended up wetter than the blankets.

When the fun was over, they went back to work, and Ruth used it as a teachable moment. "Just remember there's happiness to be had even when things seem hard cause our joy comes from the Lord; it don't depend on circumstances, not real joy. But you got to work at remembering it sometimes."

Grace gave her a smile of gratitude. "I'll remember." She didn't have to work at remembering it right now.

Sister Ruth started humming a hymn and Grace joined in and it wasn't long before the words of the song could be heard.

sss

Mrs. Bellamy was waiting in the parlor when the family returned from the city and had been there for awhile, according to Jon.

"I'll see that the children get in bed," Christophe said, "while you ladies talk about whatever it is ladies talk about."

Yvette wanted to protest that was what the mammie was for and for him to stay by her side, but she didn't. Instead, she braced herself for the visit by picking up Bella as a comfort. It didn't hurt that Mrs. Bellamy hated dogs, not played at disliking them like Sister Ruth, but flat out hated them. "Mrs. Bellamy, I hope you weren't waiting long," she said as she entered the parlor.

Her forehead wrinkled and her mouth pursed in disgust and she kept a good 4 feet away as Yvette had hoped she would.

"It is late, Mrs. Bellamy, and I'm afraid the trip was wearing. I do wish we had more time to socialize. Perhaps another time."

"What I'm here for won't take long. I'm coming to check and see that you took care of that troublemaking slave of yours."

"Oh, I took care of her. Is that all?"

Mrs. Bellamy wasn't satisfied. She raised a dark, thin eyebrow. "You whipped her?"

"Well, no. We don't whip our slaves here, but she was severely punished. You can be sure of that."

She sneered. "Do you have no backbone, Mrs. Mollette, or is it you just don't want to do it in front of that fanatical friend of yours? Imagine wanting me to give money to whores. I don't know how you abide that woman being in your house."

Yvette was just thinking the same thing about Mrs. Bellamy. "It is my husband's policy. He handles the slaves."

"That is why your slaves have the free time to make trouble with other people's slaves. Nothing good can come of being lax with them, but I can't say I'm terribly surprised. I've heard rumor that his child from the other side of the sheets is living with you. Was she the one that talked to our slave girl?"

She ignored the question. "That has nothing to do with it. Mr. Mollette finds a little human kindness makes them better workers. It's also why none of our slaves have ever tried to run away."

She sniffed. "I expect you'll at least want to compensate for their loss. We lost a good male worker, the female was almost as good as the male, and the child had promise. Healthy and strong, the three of them. Let's see that comes to-"

"I will not pay good money, Mrs. Bellamy, because you can't keep your slaves from running off, and I've seen your slaves. I've yet to see a strong, healthy one in the lot."

Mrs. Bellamy was highly offended. There was no question of that. "You can be sure my husband will hear of this and he won't be happy," she threatened, before flouncing from the room.

Yvette simmered with anger. She had stuck up for Christophe's practices because to not take up for him in public would not be good breeding and because the woman was insufferable, but deep inside she agreed with Mrs. Bellamy. Hadn't her father ruled her with an iron fist and she had turned out alright. Slaves were like children; they needed discipline and she knew just who she would start with.

Grace would pay for embarrassing her in front of Mrs. Bellamy.


	17. Chapter 17

Kid was playing a game of solitaire on the bed while Ruth finished pinning up her hair the next morning.

"I don't think Grace is going to talk to her father," she said. "She thinks he won't listen and maybe he won't; I tried talking to him before, but it didn't accomplish much other than get her moved inside. Maybe you should give it a shot."

Kid wasn't fond of butting into other people's business, but he was still mad over finding Grace in the closet. "Sure. I'd have probably said something yesterday if they hadn't been gone all day."

"I think I'll see if I can't talk to Yvette."

"Good luck with that," he said as he threw a queen down. "You'll need it."

"There's no such thing as luck."

"Prayer then. You'll need lots and lots of prayer."

"That I'll take." She stood up from the vanity table. "I am covered in dog hair," Ruth complained, trying to brush the tan fur from her skirt.

His grin irritated her. He wasn't a bit sympathetic to her problem.

She rolled her eyes and went towards the door but stopped just before she opened it. "She's waiting outside the door. I can hear her tail thumping on the floor."

"What's the difference if you're already covered in it?"

She sighed and Kid chuckled as she opened the door and a happy dog came in.

sss

Ruth found Yvette doing needlepoint in her sitting room. She had stitched the verse, 'A patient spirit is better than a proud spirit.' She was working on adding decorative flowers around it. Ruth approved of the verse but she was sure the woman didn't see the irony of it; she probably thought she was full of patience. Bella jumped up and curled up on the footstool in front of her mistress.

"We haven't spoken of where I found Grace the other day," Ruth said.

She didn't even look up. "I guessed you were the one who let her out, but I don't mind. I think she got the point."

Ruth took a deep breath, trying to see her as God saw her, a lonely and jealous woman who needed His love to have a clearer view of the world. "You really don't see the wrong in what you did?"

She looked up that time. "I'm the one who's been wronged. I wonder if you would be so easily forgiving if your husband had another woman in his life and a child by her?"

"I'm not saying your husband or even Grace's mother did what was right, but what did any of it have to do with Grace? She had no say in what her parents did or how she came into the world. But you have a chance to treat her as the stepdaughter she is."

There was no softening on Yvette's face. "She is not my stepdaughter. She is not white and her mother was not married to Christophe. Be it her fault or not, she is fortunate I tolerate her at all. Not many would have opened their home to her."

"Jesus would have and as His precious child. Stitch that on your sampler, sister." She left the room letting that parting thought hang heavy in the air.

sss

Kid found Christophe in the study, the room he spent the most time in. It was the only space in the house that seemed to be truly his, a fact that was evident in that Yvette had had no hand in decorating this room as it was simply and tastefully done.

He saw Kid and seemed to sense a heavy conversation was about to ensue. He set his pen down and said, "I've given the slaves time to fix their cabins. They're all in excellent condition now for the coming winter."

"I'm glad to hear that," Kid said. "That's not what I've come to talk about though. I want to talk to you about your oldest daughter. I know Sister Ruth's talked to you about it before, but the problem's gotten worse since then."

"Oh?"

"Yvette shut Grace up in the space under the stairs. Ruth and I had to let her out. She was hungry and scared."

"Why did she do that?"

"I'm just the messenger. Grace didn't go into any details. That's something you'll have to talk to them about."

He sighed. "I suppose it is a problem I've been trying to ignore."

"It's not going to go away and as head of the house, you have an obligation to set things right."

Christophe looked defeated. "Merci. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

Kid left and he sent the message through Jon for his wife and daughter to join him in the study. Neither female looked particularly pleased with him when they came in.

Christophe put a hand over his mouth as he thought about how best to go about this. He had tried to take the path of least resistance and had ended up alienating all concerned. Something had to be decided once and for all and he had to decide it. Decisions had never been easy for him. He had let his parents decide everything and now he let his wife decide everything.

"Grace would you care to explain the incident Kid just informed me of?" he asked.

"I object," Yvette said.

"This isn't a courtroom, mon muffin. Grace?"

She said nothing, but he didn't miss the look of fear she pointed toward Yvette or the hard look Yvette gave her in return.

Kid was right. She was afraid. She had always been a tough girl; she'd never cried over scraped knees and she always had a sassy comeback. But God help him, he was destroying her spirit, the spirit he had always treasured because it was so unlike himself, in his own house at the worst possible time in her life.

He came to a decision in that instant, but just as he opened his mouth, there was a knock on the door.

"Yes?" Christophe called.

Jon stuck his head through the door. "I-I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, but Mr. Bellamy is here to see you. I thought you'd want to know."

He sighed. He didn't like his neighbor and he had a feeling he wasn't going to like this visit. "We'll continue this conversation later."

Jon waited until Yvette and Grace were gone before showing Mr. Bellamy in.

Mr. Bellamy had a good 20 or 30 years on Mrs. Bellamy, but they were a good match in that they had the same sour disposition, some would say evil.

"Do you know of what our wives spoke last night?" Mr. Bellamy asked.

"No. Should I know?"

"I should have come over here in the first place. You know 3 of my slaves escaped a couple days ago?"

"I was made aware, yes."

"Were you also made aware that your illegitimate daughter was seen talking to one of these slaves? She helped them in some way."

"That is ridiculous. She is but a little girl. What could she have done?"

"I don't know, but she did something and if I see your bastard daughter anywhere near my property, I'll kill her. Shoot her dead right on the spot."

"She is a free person of color. You would be tried for murder."

"Maybe so, but I believe the judge would go easy on me considering the circumstances, so you had better keep a close eye on her."


	18. Chapter 18

Yvette grabbed Grace's upper arm once they were away from the study. Her squeeze was tight and painful, no doubt her fingers were leaving marks. Thankfully, she released her once they were alone in the parlor.

"So you've complained to your father about me? Well, I'll give you something to complain about."

She clearly only heard what she wanted to hear as her father had plainly said he'd heard it from Kid, not her.

Yvette picked up a vase from the mantle and threw it, shattering it not far from where Grace stood.

Grace didn't know if she had lousy aim or if she was just trying to scare her, and she didn't care to find out. However, Yvette blocked the door, meaning there would be no running away.

"You're trying to divide your father and me. Well, it's not going to work. It's me your father listens to. You know outside of New Orleans, people don't care whether you're free or not. To them, you're black and black means slave, papers or no papers. It would be a shame to find yourself with a master and mistress who aren't so kind. Maybe I'll even see if the Bellamys want you."

Her threats hit their mark. Grace backed up against the wall as if driven by physical blows.

Yvette wasn't through with her yet; she picked up a peaceful-looking shepherdess figurine that was about to become a weapon in Yvette's hands or at least a tool of intimidation.

Grace instinctively covered her face and waited for the sound of more shattering or to be struck by the object, but her father suddenly bellowed. "Stop it right now!"

Yvette looked mortified that she had been caught in the act while Grace could only draw a huge sigh of relief.

"I don't ever want you alone with Grace again," Christophe said forcefully.

"That's absurd," Yvette said.

"You heard me or I'll throw you out of this house so fast you won't know what happened, whatever society thinks about it."

Yvette looked as if she were struggling for air, but Christophe didn't give her time to come to her senses before he issued his next order. "Send in the children. I need to talk to them too."

Yvette opened her mouth to protest.

"I said send in the children," he said in a stricter tone.

Yvette wasn't used to being ordered around like this, not by her husband anyway, and she didn't know how to respond, but she left to do as he asked.

Grace waited with him at his request.

The two children, who looked like grotesque cherubs in their flouncy, white nightclothes, looked almost petrified at being asked to stand before their father, causing Grace to feel a twinge of sympathy despite their rough treatment of her. Maybe she wasn't the only one who had been neglected.

"I don't think Grace's position has been made clear in this house. She is your sister, your older sister I might add, so if anything, you should be listening to her, not the other way around."

They didn't seem to know what to say. They were as stunned as their mother had been.

"Are we clear?" he continued.

"Yes, Papa," Violet answered.

"Yes, Papa," Hugh said, echoing his sister, but not really understanding this sudden change.

Violet took Hugh by the hand and they turned to go, but Hugh looked back. "Will you still play with me?" he asked Grace.

Violet jerked his hand roughly, reminding Grace of a younger Yvette, but it didn't keep Hugh from looking back, waiting for her answer.

"I might if you're nicer," she said.

Hugh seemed agreeable to the proposal.

This stand for Grace had felt satisfying, right to Christophe. She was safe from her own family. Mr. Bellamy was another matter. "You may go, Grace, but I have something I'd like to discuss with the Coles. Will you find them and send them to me?"

She nodded and looked at him as if she didn't quite recognize the man in front of her, which caused him shame. He should have done what he had done a long time ago. He should've done a lot of things differently.

Christophe told Kid and Ruth of all that had transpired when they came in, particularly with Mr. Bellamy.

"The nerve of that man. He came right into your home and told you he was going to kill your daughter? Have you sent somebody for the law?" Ruth asked.

"Wouldn't do no good. It was just words," Kid said. "Even if they took it seriously, he ain't done nothing yet."

"Would it help if we talked to Mr. Bellamy and told him the truth of the matter?" She looked at Christophe. "Grace told us of this family's need, but it was us who helped carry out the escape."

Christophe didn't look surprised. "I didn't think she had accomplished anything single-handedly, but I'm certain it wouldn't have kept her from trying. No, Mr. Bellamy will just take his revenge on all of you."

Kid nodded in agreement. "She needs protection. I know this Bellamy fellow's kind. He'll find someway to get her back on his property if he's got to get one of his lackeys to drag her there and then claim he had the right because she's a thief and a trespasser."

Christophe's eyes grew wide with alarm. He hadn't thought of that. "What can I do?"

"We'll keep her with us until you can decide on something more permanent," Kid said.

"Of course, she'll be safe," Ruth said. "We'll make sure she's never out of somebody's sight."

That was one worry off Christophe's mind, at least for the short term, but they couldn't be her bodyguards forever. How was he going to keep her safe?


	19. Chapter 19

Kid and Ruth took Grace with them to the revival. She had been outdoors so little lately that though the air was chill, the sun felt sweet against her skin. In the open air, she really did believe she was free again.

"I will miss cooking, I have to say, especially for other people," she was telling Ruth and Kid as they waited for the people to come. As chilly as it was, it would have been nice to be indoors, but there was no way to accommodate all the attendees if they did.

"You don't have to stop cooking. In fact, I bet Josie would love to have your help and appreciate it all the more because you're doing it because you want to and not because you have to."

"I don't know. My father's slaves didn't seem to appreciate that I washed the blankets up for them. No one even said thank you."

"Well, them saying thank you wasn't really the point, was it?"

"No. I suppose I will ask."

The conversation was cut short because the first people began to come and Sister Ruth always led them in a spiritual until everyone was there. It worked at preparing their hearts, she said.

As the revival got underway, Ruth noticed that Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, was sitting in the front row. She didn't look as if she were going to stir up trouble though. She listened politely through the preaching and healing, sang the hymns. She stuck around when everybody else left.

"I've heard of your little problem," Marie told them. "How little Grace is being targeted unfairly."

"How can you have heard of our problem?" Ruth asked suspiciously. She knew it wasn't voodoo magic, but she did wonder at how she stayed so well-informed.

"You have informants among the servants and slaves. Am I right?" Kid asked.

Marie smiled. "The invisible people. Well-to-do folks will say all sorts of private things in front of them and then wonder how information that nobody could possibly know got out."

Grace was a little disillusioned. She had trusted in Marie's honesty and her mother had trusted in her honesty, but she had fooled them. She was slowly learning the hard way that people weren't always what they seemed; sometimes you discovered they were worse than you thought they were, and fortunately, sometimes you discovered there was an even better person hiding the public figure.

"Why are you telling us this?" Kid asked. He had heard rumor that Marie sometimes used blackmail, but Ruth's past was squeaky clean and he was open with his past.

"You didn't know the Bellamys were very superstitious people, did you?" she asked, her tone casual but her meaning obvious.

Kid looked interested. "No, we didn't. So you got something in mind then?"

"The Bellamys don't have the fear of God in them, but they do have the fear of voodoo. I can intimidate them into not taking any action."

Sister Ruth didn't look as if she altogether approved of the plan, but she did want to protect Grace. "It's something, I reckon."

Marie looked at Ruth now. "I'm sorry I set you up. I see that you do have real powers."

"I have nothing. It's God's power. I just convince people to believe in His promises."

"Well, you do a good job of it. You may not have changed the crowd that night, but you did help to change me. Jesus hasn't been far from my thoughts lately. I keep thinking what would He have told me if He had been there and I'm not liking what I'm coming up with. I don't know that I'll ever shake my image now, but I want to try. I want to spend more time helping people and pointing them to the cross and not to a useless pet snake."

Ruth gave her a genuine smile. "I'm happy to hear that, sister. Very happy."

sss

Marie kept her promise and the next day she was at the Bellamys. She gained immediate entrance into the house when she gave the butler her card.

"Marie Laveau?" Mrs. Bellamy asked, still not quite able to believe the legendary voodoo queen was standing in her parlor.

"In the flesh," she said with a grand sweep of her hands.

"I am honored by your visit. We've seen you at Congo Square. Will you bestow a blessing on me?" she said, taking a seat on the sofa.

Marie added big gestures and sprinkled powdered sugar on her as she said, "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen."

"This is so exciting," Mrs. Bellamy said in response. "Do sit. I sent for Mr. Bellamy. He's out in the fields, but he won't want to miss your visit."

Mr. Bellamy joined them seconds later. His gray eyebrows furrowed, causing them to come together and look like a fuzzy worm. "So you really are here. I don't understand. You're here to tell our fortunes? Why us?"

"I help only the best of families. Surely you understand that and it was brought to my attention that you've patronized the voodoo celebrations. Naturally I want to help those interested in voodoo and those who are deserving."

"Of course," Mrs. Bellamy said. Mr. Bellamy wasn't so easily won and looked at her golden brown skin with contempt, the silent message clear that he didn't think her of the best families and wasn't completely sure he wanted her in his house.

A causal drag of her chair signaled to her daughter, who was hiding in the room overhead with the butler's knowledge, to cue the sound effects.

Her namesake gave the rattle of sheet metal that sounded so much like a bolt of lightening, but it was plain to see out the window that it was a beautiful day.

"You are angering the spirits. Sit down, Mr. Bellamy. You are favored for now, but disbelief can bring down curses like you wouldn't believe."

His wife motioned with her eyes for him to sit beside her and he did, his skin looking a shade paler though he was as stoic as ever.

She pulled out a pack of tarot cards and starts spilling out the usual nondescript nonsense that the wealthy liked to hear like increased fortune and crushing enemies under their feet. Then she convincingly performed the theatrics of having a sudden vision. "My successor is near."

Mrs. Bellamy stuttered. "Your-your successor. What does that mean? You mean me?"

She shook her head. "A child. I see that this child has caused you trouble of late, a loss of wealth."

Mr. Bellamy looked to his wife for explanation.

"I've told her nothing. It's what she does," she answered.

"What of this child? You know how we can be avenged?" Mr Bellamy asked.

Marie shook her head. "She has not yet come into her full power, but when she does, she will be a force to behold. Even now she is protected by Li Grande Zombi and the Bon Dieu. To touch a single hair on her head would mean certain death."

The butler's daughter, a maid in the house and her other informant besides the butler himself, brought them a tray. They'd worked up a devious, dangerous plan but one that would ensure the young woman's freedom if it worked.

"You smell of the child," Marie said, pointing an accusing finger at her.

"It's not what you think," the woman rushed to explain to the Bellamys. "I only meant to help. I saw her playing from the upstairs window and I thought that I would cause a little accident, drown her in the creek, but I felt a strange feeling when I tried. I haven't felt right since. I-"

She'd intended to say more, had rehearsed more, but the poison she'd been absorbing through the glands in her feet kicked in, felling her to the floor and giving her the appearance that she was dead, and if she couldn't get the girl away quickly enough to give her the anecdote, she would be.

Mr. Bellamy checked her over and looked as if he was about to lose consciousness himself. "She-she is dead."

Marie shook her head sadly. "She's too late for the warning. Fortunately, I came in time for the two of you. The Bon Dieu is smiling on you."

"Yes, yes," Mr. Bellamy said, pulling on his collar as if he could already feel a spirit trying to strangle him.

"Thank Dieu. How can we ever repay you?" Mrs. Bellamy asked.

"This may seem a strange request, but there's so much one can do with the dead. May I have your slave's body?"

Mrs. Bellamy looked as if she wanted to hurl, but she answered, "Yes, of course."

She threw the young woman who was fortunately light of frame over her shoulder and left in her carriage. Once on the Mollette's property, she gave her the anecdote that would counteract the nerve poisoning and also met up with her daughter. After telling the Coles of her success, she took the woman to a safe house, a step that was probably unnecessary since her master and mistress would never even dream of looking for her, but it was better safe than sorry and it was all in a day's work for the voodoo queen.


	20. Chapter 20

"I'm sending her to school in France," Christophe informed the Coles after he'd had the night to think about it. He knew of what Marie had done to protect her, but he could never rest easy with the Bellamys right next door and he still worried over his wife's resentment of her. Yvette had poutingly locked herself up in her room, refusing to see anybody unless you counted the dog, but he wasn't lucky enough for that to last. It was the best thing for Grace, he was sure.

The Coles looked skeptical at the plan, and he rushed to explain, "There will be lots of mixed race children there from right in this city. It's not an uncommon practice for male children especially."

"You're her father," Kid said. "You don't have to explain it to us."

"You do have to explain it to Grace," Ruth added.

"I know and it's cowardly of me, but will you be there when I tell her?"

They agreed and Ruth went down to the kitchen to retrieve her where she was helping Josie.

Grace took a seat at her father's insistence and he told her the news.

She said little and reacted little. "France?"

"It's tres belle there with the art, the history, the people. I'm sure you'll like it there," he said.

"I'm sure I will. Is that all?" Her father didn't want her. That's what she heard in this. It didn't surprise her though. She'd always known she came last.

"That's all. I've got Jon handling the arrangements. You'll be sailing at the end of the week."

"Can I go back to the kitchen?" Grace asked.

Christophe nodded and she left the room, the Coles following.

"You think it's better for colored folks out west?" Grace asked.

Ruth didn't have the heart to tell that New Orleans was actually very liberal in their treatment compared to the rest of the country. "I think that if you have God, you can face anything anywhere because He is an ever-present help in times of trouble."

"You're not thinking of running away, are you?" Kid asked.

"No, just thinking for when I'm older," Grace answered.

"You remember Olive?" Ruth asked Kid.

"Of course," Kid said.

"You ever get as far west as where the upper part of the Colorado River runs, look up Olive Bray," Ruth said. "Of course, she's probably married by now with a different last name, but tell her you know me and I know she'll give you a job though I'm sure your own cooking will recommend you."

"You going to stay until I sail?" Grace asked.

Ruth and Kid both gave her their assurance that they would.

"I'm going to miss you both," Grace said.

"Who knows except for God that we won't run into each other again? It's a small world," Ruth said.

sss

About a month later, Grace was once again dressed in her fine silks and she found herself at a boarding school for girls. The lady who ran it seemed as pretentious as the building, but she welcomed her and rambled on in French as she showed her to where she would be sleeping.

Creole French was different from Paris French, but she seemed to be able to make herself understood and vice versa.

White girls, her classmates, smiled at her as they passed. There were worse places she could be; people she could be with who were nowhere near as friendly. All in all, she figured she could survive her time here. Maybe even enjoy it if she tried hard enough.

_Present Day_

Robert E had had to get back to the blacksmith shop. Grace had lingered, sharing coffee with Sister Ruth. She felt frozen to her seat. She kept telling herself that she had to be married by this near stranger in the great outdoors because after all what other choice did she have? It's not like there were any other churches to be had. It was get married in the field or nothing, and she was grateful to Sister Ruth for standing up for them in front of all those people, black and white.

Ruth was finishing up her coffee and took notice of Grace's conflicted feelings. "I'll let you in on a little secret if you promise not to get your hopes up. I didn't just press my services on you two. I knew the reverend was there and listening and I have a feeling my volunteering will light a fire under him, make him rethink his position. Right now he's worrying more about what folks will think than what the good Lord thinks."

Hope appeared on Grace's face. "You think it'll work though?"

"I do. He's a good man at heart. Most folks are. I expect you'll hear something in a day or two."

A smile grew on Grace's face. "You're a crafty one, Sister Ruth."

"You know what the Bible says be gentle as a dove but as wise as a serpent."

Grace's smile became a half-smile.

"Something else bothering you?" Sister Ruth asked, a great reader of people.

"Do you believe that a couple has to tell each other everything about themselves before they marry?" After all, she wouldn't have known anything of Robert E's past if not for his feverish ravings.

"I think it makes for a better foundation, the more you know. Your house is less likely to crumble if you make it solid from the start."

Her father would have loved that analogy. He was always a great lover of metaphors and sayings. "My father was white. My mother was a free person of color. I was educated because of it. I can play piano, speak French, and I even studied in France after my mother died because I didn't get along too good with my stepmother or the neighbors for that matter. I helped a family of neighboring slaves escape by causing a distraction. My father decided I'd be better off in France."

Grace stared into her empty cup. "I never said I was a slave, but I think he assumes we share similar backgrounds and we don't, though I worked like one for a few short weeks because of my stepmother. I'm afraid he'll think we're not made for each other if he knew."

"I think you're not giving the man enough credit, but if your love can't hold up in the face of truth, it's better you know that now before it's too late."

"I guess you're right." New Orleans would always hold a special place in her heart, but it had never really suited her. France hadn't been much better though the racial relations were lightyears ahead of America's. She'd spent 5 years at the boarding school. She'd come back to find her stepmother had died, God rest her soul. Her half siblings had grown more spoiled, she didn't even know if they were still living, and her father had been as much a stranger to her as ever. He'd given her an inheritance when she told him of her plans and that inheritance had taken her to Colorado where she'd found work at Olive's ranch as a cook. She'd still remembered Josie's lessons from so long ago and she'd worked on her cooking skills in France when she wasn't learning useless lessons like watercolor and comportment.

Now that he was gone, a fact she's been told by a letter from Josie during the war, she wished she'd taken the time to get to know her father better. She'd promised when her mother died that she'd never let another person in her life die without telling them what they meant to her, but she'd failed again. He hadn't been a great father, but he hadn't been a bad father either. He was just an imperfect human being, who looking back on it had loved her in his own way though he'd never said the words. She would never feel like Grace Mollette, though that was the name she'd gone by in France; it was a name for another girl in another place at another time.

She thanked Ruth for her advice and went to find Robert E. When she saw the look he gave her as he saw her coming, she wondered how she could have doubted him. She told him of her childhood.

"None of that matters to me, Grace," he said when she'd finished. "We were meant for each other."

As she hugged the man she loved, she saw over his shoulder that the reverend was working his way over to speak with them, and as Sister Ruth had predicted, it looked by his expression as if he'd had a change of heart. They were going to be married in a church, and if those in heaven could see those on earth, she was sure that her parents were smiling down on her at this moment.

The End


End file.
